


Sugar and Cyanide.

by rubyrosettared



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: 1920's, Gen, Own Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-02-06 15:03:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1862238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyrosettared/pseuds/rubyrosettared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Mitchell get the nickname 'Big Bad John'? This is my interpretation. Set in the 1920's, fledgling vampire John Mitchell is making a name for himself. Then he meets Lily Vale and all hell breaks loose. </p><p>The title 'Sugar and Cyanide' is from the song 'Tonight' by Seether. I think it also aptly describes the relationship between Mitchell and Lily. This fic was originally posted at fanfiction.net back in 2011, it's had a bit of a makeover since then. The characters of Being Human belong to Toby Whithouse et al, the original characters are my own as well as any (unintentional) errors.</p><p>*COMPLETE*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Sugar and Cyanide.**

_They say that it’s in the dead of night when the wild things prowl. Unspeakable creatures that hide in the darkest of shadows, blanketed and secure; only emerging when exposure is threatened. They prefer to remain hidden, to stay a secret. He wonders how the world would react to the realisation that true darkness exists on a much more common level than they could possibly ever realise._

_Silence is his only companion tonight. He doesn’t make a sound. The hush offers comfort to those who seek it and he ignores it. He has other things on his mind tonight._

_He pauses in front of the doorway and he looks up. This is where they said she’d be and he takes a slow, deep breath. He looks up and down the deserted corridor and he flicks a quick glance upwards at the ceiling. All they will see is the door open, just a little bit, technically wide enough for a body to slip through. The disbelieving will blame a draught; the believers will know the truth._

_He walks carefully, cautiously, his eyes vigilant but she doesn’t look up from her book. Why should she, it’s the middle of the night and everyone is sleeping. He slips behind curtains and he checks the patient records hooked on the end of each bed, searching for one name in particular. Finally he finds it and he examines it in the weak light. He smiles to himself and he lowers himself onto the seat beside the bed. He looks at her. She stirs as she feels his cool hand gently grasp hers. Her eyes open and turn his way._

_“Hello Alice,” he greets._

* * *

 

**Chapter One:**

**_South West England…1925_ **

“Ooh and who is _this_ poppet?” Slowly Mitchell raises his head and he looks at her with dark unfathomable eyes.

“Pardon me?”

She widens big blue eyes. “Oh and an _Irish_ poppet, William you spoil me.” She smiles almost gleefully and Mitchell sends Herrick a look as if to say _what the hell?_

“Settle down Lily, he’s not your new plaything,” Herrick sighs irritably. He rolls his eyes, shakes his head and turns his back.

In the meantime Mitchell has got an eyeful of this new arrival, another vampire. He observes her; she’s stunning, possibly one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen.  The macho part of him appreciates her pale porcelain skin, the dark blue eyes and her sable dark hair that is the colour of melted chocolate. She’s a confection. He watches Lily pout perfectly rouged lips.

“Ohhh…please William, I promise not to break him.” Mitchell watches her go to him and her expression is wheedling, pleading and he waits for the snarl, the flash of irritation that is sure to follow, Herrick does not like being coddled by anyone. He slowly turns and regards her.

“I’m not worried about the soldier there,” he mutters and Lily turns almost delighted eyes back to Mitchell and he feels pinned to his chair. Instead he slides down and averts his gaze.

“He’s a soldier? Even better!” she exclaims and strides towards him. Mitchell sends a mildly panicked look Herrick’s way.

“Christ Lily, go easy on the boy!” Herrick calls. Mitchell scrambles to his feet.

She smells wonderful, her perfume washes over him and she smiles at him and holds out a hand.

“I’m Lily Vale,” she introduces with a wide, white smile that instantly puts him on his guard. Slowly, cautiously, he takes her hand.

“John Mitchell,” he replies. Her smile widens.

“So you’re William’s newest recruit,” she breathes and her dark blue eyes sparkle with interest. Mitchell flicks an unsure look Herrick’s way and watches him approach them.

“Yes Lily, he’s the latest addition to the family, now let go of his hand and leave him alone, I’m sure there’s someone else around more suitable to your…taste,” he chides and Lily pouts and lets go of his hand.

“If you insist, but he looks like he could be lots of fun.” She winks saucily at him over one shoulder as she turns and follows Herrick out of the room.

Mitchell exhales and relaxes tense shoulders. He has no idea who she is but he feels like he’s been hit by a tempest.

* * *

 

He sits beside Herrick at the table and watches everything that’s going on. There is so much for him to see, to witness, to learn and he views it with barely reigned in impatience. He wants to do it all now, at once, before boredom sets in. The world around him is a cornucopia of possibilities. He pulls at the collar of his shirt as he watches the young ladies on the dance floor with their boyfriends, their dance partners. He’s bored and he’s restless which is never the best of combinations for him.

“Will you sit still, you’re starting to get on my nerves,” Herrick mutters and Mitchell sends him a slightly resentful sideways glance. He folds his arms and frowns. Herrick glances at him and then rolls his eyes.

“For God’s sake, get something to drink!” he hisses and Mitchell unfolds his arms and Herrick watches his dark eyes keenly scan the vista in front of him. He bites back a smile of pride. John is a very quick learner, probably one of his quickest. Nothing worries him, he thinks quickly on his feet and the women absolutely adore him. He lifts his eyes as target selected, Mitchell rises to his feet and he watches him skirt the busy dance floor. Herrick scans the faces and he sees the little blonde seated alone beside the orchestra and he smiles to himself. She’s plain, lonely and ripe for the picking.

Oh yes, his boy is a very quick learner indeed.

* * *

 

She did tell him her name but for the life of him he can’t remember it. She seems overwhelmed by his attention, his _undivided_ attention and he stays just on the right side of decency. He flirts with her, buys her champagne and she’s his. He stays on the side lines, he doesn’t want anyone to remember him and cause all sorts of unwelcome trouble.

She’s a little bit tipsy as they leave the little jazz club. She wants to hail a cab but he persuades her to take a walk. He knows that there’s a small park nearby and it’ll be deserted at this time of night. He feels a growl in the pit of his stomach. He’s starving and she’ll be the perfect _hors_ _d’oeuvres_.  She slides her arm trustingly through his and dimples a smile up at him. She’s being daring, she barely knows this man and she’s allowing him to walk her home. She feels a shiver of bravado at her daring.

It’s a mild midsummer evening and the breeze feels like silk on his face. He feels her arm slide through his and he glances down at her and he smiles at her without any real affection. His eyes scan the street, looking for the perfect place to cross so that he can hide her away and he can eat. He can hear the rhythmic whoosh of her blood as it flows through a variety of veins and arteries. Herrick tells him that he’ll learn to naturally filter it out eventually, it takes practice. He’s never been particularly patient. Right now he can hear the musical _lump-bump_ of her heartbeat. It sounds a little quick, a little excited and he barely refrains from laughing out loud.

He sees the park ahead of him. They cross the road and enter via ornate wrought iron gates. He lifts his head to the breeze and he gently inhales.

“This isn’t the way home,” she tells him and he looks down at her.

“It’s still early so I thought we could walk for a bit,” he suggests and he sees the troubled expression in her big blue eyes. “Don’t you want to take a walk with me?” He lays his accent on thick and sees the misgiving melt from her eyes. Herrick has told him more than once that with his accent and his eyes, women will be tripping over themselves to accommodate him. It seems he’s right. He covers the hand that is linked through his proprietarily.

“It’s such a beautiful night,” he sighs, looking up at the navy blue sky.

At this time of night, the park is deserted. Mitchell listens but all he can hear is the sound of the night breeze rushing through the leaves and branches of various trees. It’s strangely calming but internally he is anything but. He anticipates tasting her, getting close enough to her to savour that first mouthful. His mouth waters at the thought of it.

He leads her to a bench and they sit together. He can feel the warmth of her skin from her thigh as it presses against his. She looks at him. He smiles and he sees the nervous smile she affords him. He reaches for her hand and holds it between his for a moment before he shuffles a little bit closer. He lowers his head, intent on kissing her, getting her under his spell. He frowns as she flinches back.

“What are you doing?” she breathes and he hears her pulse skitter nervously. He frowns slightly, taken a little bit by surprise.

“Don’t you like me?” He still blanks on her name. He thinks that it’s something feline sounding but can’t take the risk. She blinks owlishly and he reigns in his impatience, his need to just lunge, attack and feed. It’s difficult but he manages it, just.

“It’s just…you’re very…forward, that’s all,” she replies.

“I can’t help it, it’s the effect you have on me,” he replies, tempering his tone, widening his eyes and wondering why she’s being so bloody awkward. His stomach growls loudly and she stares at him.

“I’m so sorry, it’s just that I haven’t eaten in a while,” he confesses. He tightens his grip on her hand and her eyes widen with alarm. She tries to pull it away but he holds on. “Oh, don’t be like that,” he chides. He hears her pulse accelerate and it only adds to the excitement, a little bit of adrenaline spicing the blood is always good. He lowers his head and then feels a stinging pain across his cheek. It takes him by surprise and he lets go of her hand. He sees her scrabble across the bench, intent on putting a little bit of distance between them.

“I don’t like your impertinence,” she whispers fearfully and he rolls his eyes. He hates it when his meal plays hard to get. He reaches for her; he has no intention of charming her into submission now. He’s hungry, he wants to feed and he has no more patience left. He feels his eyes turn inky black and sees hers widen with horror. He smiles and makes sure that she sees the fangs too. She jumps to her feet and she’s running. He sighs and rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. In those heels, she won’t get very far. He begins to follow.

* * *

 

She’s running for her very life, every so often tossing fearful looks over her shoulder to see where he is, if he’s close by. Her heart hammers in her breast and her mouth is dry. She doesn’t see her until the last moment and she’s crashing into someone. She stumbles and turns her head. A sigh of relief gasps out of her as the woman steadies her, concern in her big blue eyes.

“Are you all right?” she enquires. She clutches at her, looking over her shoulder. She lets out a squeak of alarm when she sees him come into view. He slows his pace.

“Sweetheart” he greets and her eyes widen in utter fear. She looks back at her rescuer.

“I don’t know him…please, you have to help me,” she begs.

“He seems to know you.”

“He’s… _please_ …he’s not human…he’s a demon, a vile, horrific… _demon!_ ” She watches them exchange a look, a long _knowing_ look.

“Oh I’m not a demon sweetheart,” Mitchell drawls, he grins at Lily, who smiles with pure delight. Horrified, the blonde looks at her and she gasps when she sees her eyes scorch a familiar black.

“The term is _vampire_ darling,” she informs her and she attacks before the girl has the chance to scream.

* * *

 

 He sighs with pleasure and pushes her away from him and she rolls forgotten underneath some shrubbery. He wipes at his chin and smiles at Lily who is daintily reapplying face powder and lipstick. He watches her click her compact shut and pop it into her little bag. She looks at him and she smiles sunnily.

“Thanks,” he tells her and she rolls her eyes.

“Another two minutes and she would’ve been out of the park and screaming the place down.”

“Ah, no one would’ve believed her,” he dismisses and Lily frowns.

“You don’t know that. Lesson number one John, you never assume anything, it just takes one person to get curious and curiosity in our world only creates trouble.” Her expression is serious for just a moment before she smiles again and it makes her eyes sparkle.

“You need to polish your charm a little bit more, you have an arresting face, those eyes of yours especially, I can imagine you have women falling left right and centre over you.” She leans closer to him and she looks down at his mouth.

“You’re rather devastating now, can you imagine the effect you could have if you really worked at it, polished it up a little bit?” A tiny shiver tremors through her as she looks back into his eyes and she smiles.

“You could be the subject of myths and legends John,” she whispers.

“Mitchell,” he corrects her and she blinks.

“I beg your pardon?”

He slowly smiles. “I prefer to be called Mitchell, only my mother called me John.” His eyes drop to her painted mouth and Lily watches the interest spark in his eyes. He seems to be contemplating something and she feels a flash of excitement ignite inside of her. He looks up into her eyes and a slow smile buds. He leans forwards and presses a quick, daring kiss on her mouth. Almost immediately he withdraws and looks at her, his expression almost impudent. There’s a look of delight on her face and he takes this as her acceptance and this time his kiss lingers, deepens and takes possession. Her arms slip around his neck and she’s tumbling backwards, bringing him down on top of her.

* * *

 

“Oh. There you are.” Mitchell freezes when he hears Herrick’s laconic tone. It has the same effect as a bucket of icy cold water being dumped over his head. He lifts his head slightly and he looks down into Lily’s amused blue eyes.

“Not interrupting anything am i?” he continues and Mitchell sighs quietly. He moves away from Lily and uses his thumb to wipe at his bottom lip. Slowly he gets to his feet and he holds out a hand and watches as Lily places her own dainty one into it and she allows him to help her to her feet. He watches as she straightens the skirt of her dress and brushes away any dirt or loose grass from the expensive material. He turns to look at Herrick again and the older vampire sighs and pulls a white handkerchief out of his pocket. He holds it out to him.

“Wipe your mouth,” he sighs and frowning, Mitchell takes the handkerchief. He swipes at his mouth and sees the blood and lipstick smears. He looks down at the front of his shirt and sees the blood splashed there.

“Honestly Mitchell, you need to learn to eat a little bit more tidily in future,” Herrick chides and Mitchell frowns and swallows. It makes him feel small, being berated like this in front of Lily. He shoves the handkerchief into his pocket and follows him as he begins to walk away.

“I take it dinner was a little harder to come by than usual,” Herrick enquires as they take their leave from the park.

“Unfortunately. If it hadn’t been for Lily, she would’ve got away.” He casts a long look at her over his shoulder and flashes a quick smile. Hers is positively saucy in response.

“Eyes forward soldier,” Herrick mutters and Mitchell does exactly that.

 

 


	2. Chapter Two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are shenanigans when Mitchell, Herrick & co head for a jaunt in the country. Original characters are my own, canon characters are not. Errors as always are unintentional.

**Chapter Two:**

They have temporary lodgings in the centre of town. The actual property owners are associates of Herrick, and their town house comes in very handy on occasions such as this. It’s a well sized house with enough room for them all to move around in and not get on top of each other. Mitchell likes his space; he gets bad-tempered when he has to share.

They have several such properties dotted all around the area and which they move around from time to time. Sometimes they move around as a family group and other times they separate into smaller ones. It’s a nomadic existence but one that he accepts and embraces.

He closes the door to his room behind him and shrugs off his jacket and pulls his shirt out from the waistband of his trousers and unbuttons it. The tie is unfastened and discarded somewhere; he doesn’t know nor care where.

He pours some water into a bowl and sluices his face. There’s a towel nearby and he blots his face and neck and looks down at the pinkish deposit of blood mixed in with the water. He discards the towel and walks to his bed. He should be tired but feeding always leaves him a little bit fidgety, a little bit restless He sits down on the side of the brass bed. He hears it creak beneath his weight. He turns his head towards the door. He can hear footsteps on the stairs.

* * *

 

Herrick hands Lily the balloon glass of brandy and watches her inhale and then take a sip. Her eyes gleam appreciatively. He looks down at his own glass and swirls it, watching the golden brown liquid spin within the glass. He turns and places it on the cabinet. Slowly he turns back around and regards her. She lifts blue eyes to his.

“What’s on your mind William?” she enquires. For a moment he doesn’t answer. She’s the only one who calls him that, nobody else would dare.

“How did you know Mitchell would be in that park tonight?” he enquires smoothly. Lily looks at him and then downs the rest of her brandy in one healthy swallow. She stands up and places the empty glass onto the mantelpiece. She smiles as she turns to face him.

“Would you believe me if I said it was pure luck?”

“Knowing you as I do? Quite frankly my dear, no.”

Lily shrugs again and she slowly walks towards him. “He’s something else William, I mean, _truly_ special.” Her eyes glow and he recognises that expression.

“Leave him alone Lily, find someone more…experienced for your type of games,” he warns her in a soft voice.

“What if he wants to play too?”

“He can’t handle you and he’s the type of vampire who likes to be in control. He’s young but he’s stubborn, he’s strong willed and he’ll frustrate you.” He turns and reaches for his glass and takes a sip of brandy.

“You like your own way all of the time my darling, so does John and it’s a battle of wills that could get very nasty very quickly. To be honest, I’m not willing to sacrifice him to you and your whims.” He watches how her expression darkens, how the storm clouds gather in those lovely blue eyes of hers.

“Honestly William, if I want him, you can’t stop me from taking him.”

“Stamp your feet and be done with it Lily, I’m not going to fight with you over him. Do your worst but be warned, John Mitchell possesses a dark heart and he has a very promising future but if he gets _embroiled_ with you then that will change.” He smiles as anger overwhelms her and her eyes flash shiny black. He doesn’t move as she pushes her face into his, still arresting even like that.

“You sound almost…jealous,” she taunts.

He slowly almost lazily smiles. “Whatever helps you sleep at night my dear, whatever helps you sleep at night,” he sighs with boredom.

“I _will_ take him from you William,” she snarls.

Herrick goes still. “For God’s sake he’s not a possession Lily. He isn’t anybody’s _plaything_. There’ll be no taking from anyone. If you want to find out for yourself then by all means, try. He may surprise you, he may surprise us all.” He takes another mouthful of his drink, feigning nonchalance knowing it will irritate her all the more and he sees the flare of anger in her eyes. He watches her turn and flounce out of the room and he allows himself the smallest of smiles.

* * *

 

She storms up the stairs in a bit of a temper. She has age and experience above all of them. If she wants Mitchell then she’ll take him, they can’t stop her. She’s not stupid. She can see already that he’s curious, that he’s interested and that kiss they shared in the park and the feel of the weight of his body on top of hers more than proves her point. He will be hers if she wants him to be.

She gets to the top of the staircase and she pauses and looks at the white painted doors. She wonders which is Mitchell’s room and whether he would appreciate a late night visit.  

* * *

 

Herrick listens to her stamp up the stairs like the petulant child that she is. Oh she may outrank him in age but emotionally there’s no competition. Lily Vale is used to being adored, used to her every whim being indulged, her every wish being carried out. She’s a devious little baggage, there’s a sharp mind behind those doll like eyes and she manipulates with the best of them. John is a soldier, his first and last thought is to the cause and he can’t afford for him to be distracted. He’s looked after him for the last eight years; he doesn’t want someone like Lily coming in between them. His head has already been turned by her. He doesn’t know what to make of her, his vampiric side is doing battle with his inherently male side and Herrick has a funny feeling he knows which side is currently winning and it’s not the side that he wants. Eight years of vampirism and John still thinks with his other brain when a beautiful woman is nearby. Even if the beautiful woman is a two hundred year old predator. He smiles coldly to himself.

Maybe John will surprise them all.

* * *

 

The car pulls up outside of the large country pile and Mitchell looks up at it through the window. His spine feels like its welded to the seat and his arse has gone numb. He wants to get out and stretch. He glances at Herrick who turns off the engine and for a moment just sits there.

“Is this it?” Mitchell asks him and Herrick looks at him and he smiles.

“This is it,” he confirms and he watches his protégé open the door and climb out. He bites back a half smile as he turns to look at the grand building and surreptitiously stretches cramped and numb muscles. These charabancs are built neither for comfort nor for speed but they get them from one place to the next. He turns more fully and sees Lily in the back seat. She’s surrounded by her luggage and judging by the sulky expression on her face, she’s not happy to be here. Well, to be truthful she isn’t happy that she’s been forced to sit in the back seat, ignored by all and sundry. Herrick extended the invitation to her as a courtesy, hoping that the prospect of a weekend in the middle of nowhere would deter her but she smiled her brilliant smile at the soldier and coyly accepted. Maybe she expects him to pay court and wait on her hand and foot. Right now she’s waiting for him to open the door and help her out. He hasn’t looked at her, has hardly looked at her and this has flummoxed her.

He could have told her that he’d do this. Mitchell likes to blow hot and cold when the mood suits him and right now he’s a little bit on the chilly side.

Herrick gets out of the car and stands beside Mitchell and together they continue to stare up at the multitude of windows. Mitchell’s eyes are wide. Herrick can understand his awe, he has come from extreme poverty, all of this will be a revelation to him.

“So who lives here?” Mitchell asks. Herrick smiles slowly and slyly.

“Just the youngest son of some Lord, no idea of the actual title but this pile belongs to him. His name is Hugh Blythe-Pearson, his eldest brother got the title and most of the wealth and whatnot that goes with it, there are two other brothers and this one got what was left. More money than sense, you know what these types are like.” He taps the side of his forehead and plasters a smile on his face at the front door opens.

“And here’s the Lord of this Manor as I live and…well… breathe I suppose…” Mitchell watches him walk towards him, his hand outstretched in welcome. He turns his attention to the car and to Lily seated in the back.

Her presence on this trip disturbs him on a level that he’s not comfortable with and the only way he can deal with it is to ignore her. He realises that she doesn’t like being ignored, by him or by Herrick. Her silence has become more petulant, more uncomfortable the longer she’s remained seated there. He sighs quietly and he opens the door.

She remains where she is, staring ahead. She doesn’t acknowledge his presence, or even his existence and he supposes he deserves that.

“Are you going to sit there all day ignoring me or are you getting out?” he asks in a low, annoyed voice. That gets her attention. Her head snaps around and her eyes narrow as she glares at him. He holds out a hand and he waits. After a moment she places her gloved hand in his and allows him to help her out. He lets go of her hand as she straightens and he watches her take in her surroundings. Herrick turns and sees that she’s standing there and smoothly introduces her to their host. In an instant she’s all smiles and charm and Mitchell surreptitiously rolls his eyes.

* * *

 

 He sees large rooms filled with history. Mitchell follows Lily and Herrick and he looks around with a mixture of curiosity and strange… distaste. There are centuries of family history here; portraits grace the walls; there are framed photographs on the mantelpiece and on top of a piano. One makes him pause and he stares at it. A young man, stiffly proud in uniform. He looks nervous and he can relate to that. Once upon a time that had been him; he’d joined up looking for a vocation, a career, to escape. Dublin had nothing to offer him but starvation, unemployment, degradation and an early death from consumption or worse. He stares at the face. He wonders who he is, whether he made it back home alive in one piece. He turns his head and looks at Herrick, who seems to hold their host in his thrall. He returns his attention back to the photograph.

“Ah. That’s Bertie.” His attention is distracted by the woman who has materialised beside him. She’s a tiny, dainty little thing who looks like she’d be blown away by a good gust of wind. She’s pretty too and Mitchell takes her in. Her pale blonde hair is cut short in the new bobbed style, she’s almost as pale as he is but he can hear her heart thumping in her flat chest.

“Pardon me?” He watches her indicate the photograph of the soldier he’d been examining earlier

“My brother, Bertie. He fell in France.” Mitchell’s attention returns to the picture and he regards it with suitable sombreness

“I’m sorry to hear that. Where?”

“The Somme. He’s still over there somewhere, they never found him. Did you serve?” She keeps her voice low, confidential and he looks at her again. She’s watching him. She has big china blue eyes that he supposes are attractive in their own way.

“Yes,” he confirms and leaves it at that.

“We weren’t introduced earlier; I’m Charlotte Blythe-Pearson. I’m Hugh’s wife.” She languidly holds out a pale hand and automatically Mitchell takes it.

“John Mitchell,” he replies. In comparison he looks positively swarthy. He lets go of her hand and shoves his own into his pockets.

“Are you a friend of Mr Herrick’s?” she enquires and Mitchell turns his head and regards his sire. He looks back at Charlotte and he smiles very slightly.

“I am, yes,” he confirms. He watches her smile.

“He’s such a charming fellow don’t you think? We met him in Bristol, at a cousin’s soiree and he’s _so_ amusing, we simply had to invite him to stay with us.” Mitchell tries to imagine Herrick as charming and amusing and he supposes he can see that, they all can be like that if they want something or someone badly enough.

“He has his moments,” he agrees.

“Have you known him for long?” He picks up on the curiosity in her voice and he rocks back on his heels for a moment wondering how to answer and be vague at the same time

“A little while,” he answers and feels those doll like eyes assessing him. A shiver of something crawls up the length of his spine and sits uncomfortably between his shoulder blades.

* * *

 

He’s shown to his room and he stands in the centre of it and looks around. He thinks of his mam, of what she would think of a place like this. She told him tales of working as a maid in a place like this one before he was born and it feels strange that he’s here. He’s stayed in similar places, where luxury is seen as a right rather than a privilege but this place, there’s something about this place that he can’t quite put his finger on it.

His clothes have been put away and his tuxedo is hung up and ready for dinner. He frowns at it. He hates dressing up like a penguin but Herrick assures him that it is the done thing in a place such as this one. He sighs and goes to the bed. He sits on the side and kicks off his shoes and shrugs off his jacket and loosens his tie. He stretches out on top of the bed and he closes his eyes.

There’s a tap on his door a while later. He answers it and pauses when he sees Lily standing there. Her dress is the colour of fresh blood and looks devastating against her pale skin and chocolate brown hair. Her lips are painted to match the dress and her complexion is vampire pale. There’s a shimmering jewelled red band around her head and her shoes are that same colour.

“Ready to go down yet?” she enquires. His gaze travels the length of her body and a sly smile tips the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah. I’m starving,” he admits after a pause and she smiles at him.

“Not for food I think.” She walks towards him and she straightens his bow tie and smooths her hands down the lapels of his jacket. She assesses him and then gives a tiny nod of satisfaction.

“You’ll do. You look devastating by the way.” She looks up into his eyes again and there’s a twinkle of appreciation in his eyes at her compliment.

“Thank you. As do you.” He holds out an arm and with a giggle, she slips hers through as he steps out of the room, closing the door behind them both.

* * *

 

There are a few more people present, people Mitchell doesn’t recognise. He sees Herrick, clad in a similar tuxedo standing beside the mantelpiece, nursing what looks like a tiny glass of sherry. He sees Mitchell’s enquiring glance, looks down at the small glass and he shrugs surreptitiously. Mitchell pauses briefly and his eyes scan the guests present. He can hear a cacophony of heartbeats, an orchestra of pulses and blood flow. It’s almost overwhelming and he takes a strengthening breath. It wouldn’t do to let the other side of his nature run free just yet. There’ll be time for that later, he hopes.

“John.” He turns his head when he hears Charlotte’s almost breathy exclamation and he watches her approach him. She’s wearing a gown of pale, almost ethereal pink, the only splash of colour in a pallid façade. She barely glances at Lily and he feels her bristle beside him. Her hand tightens territorially on his arm.

“Allow me to introduce you to some perfectly marvellous people,” Charlotte murmurs to him and he has no option but to follow her to a small group of people. He glances down at Lily and he recognises the gleam in her eyes.

“Behave,” he murmurs in a low voice.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitchell and co are staying in a house, a very big house in the country....

**Chapter Three:**

Mitchell hates occasions like this one. He hates having to pretend to be civilized and polite and _normal_. He hates having to pretend that he gives a damn about what these people have to say. He hates having to remember etiquette and which fork to use with which course, it’s all unnecessary pretentious rubbish. He has much more fun sinking pints in a pub somewhere, not this; this is a different kind of torture all together. Across the table he watches Herrick; he acts like he was born to this kind of thing. He feels the discomfort crawl through him and he wonders whether these people have any clue as to what they really are, what they can and will do?

His stomach is hurting; it’s been a while since he’s fed. All around him he can hear hearts beating, pulses skipping, blood rushing through veins. None of them could stop him if he truly wanted to cause the kind of mayhem that he’s becoming an expert in.

He tries to tune out the conversations going on around him as he mechanically eats what is placed in front of him. There’s hardly enough food on the plate to feed a fly and he frowns slightly. He’s utterly ravenous and he has no clue of how much longer he can control it. He lifts his head slightly and looks at Herrick. He seems to be keeping the master of the house under his thrall, judging by the expression in the other guy’s eyes. He forgets his name.

“John… is everything alright?” He turns his head when he hears Charlotte’s low voice and he looks at her. He nods just the once.

“You look a little…peaky.” He inhales and grapples with his irritation.

“I’m…fine.” He tempers his tone with great difficulty. He wants to get out of here, leave, be somewhere else and he wonders what kind of commotion he’ll cause if he does exactly that.

* * *

 

Herrick looks across the table and he sees the tension in Mitchell’s eyes. He’s never been very good in this kind of social situation. Oh he can lay on the charm when the mood suits him but here Herrick can see that he is supremely uncomfortable. He can imagine that given the right amount of encouragement, he could and would turn this entire table into a bloodbath of epic proportions. Judging by the expression on his face, that moment isn’t too far away. Their eyes meet across the table and he glares at him and subtly shakes his head. Mitchell’s answering frown is devastating. He reaches for his wine glass and swallows its contents down in one gulp instead.

Conversation flows all around him but buzzing fills his head. The need to feed has him on the very edge. He needs to drink.

“Everything alright over there old man?” a male voice brays and Mitchell flinches and flicks a dark look his way.

“He’s just feeling a little…under the weather, aren’t you John?” Herrick interrupts. His expression is neutral as Mitchell scowls at him.

“A little,” he replies quietly. He glances up as someone appears at his shoulder and refills his wine glass. He reaches for it. It gives his hands something to do.

“Ah. Not from these shores are you?” Slowly, carefully Mitchell replaces his glass on the snowy white tablecloth and he slides another look across the table to the owner of the loud unnecessary voice.

“No. I’m not,” he responds tightly.

“Ireland, am I right?” Mitchell tightens his left hand into a fist, the knuckles turning white.

“What gave me away?” He smiles, deliberately laying the accent on thick but the smile doesn’t go anywhere near his eyes. Immediately a hush falls over the table. Herrick watches Mitchell carefully. He can see that his protégé is on the very verge of something terrible. He’s waiting for the excuse to let it all go and create beautiful mayhem. He feels his own darkness skirt around the edges of sensibility. What a wondrous sight it would be but they need to bide their time, he needs to take a step back and get back under control. He slides a warning look to Lily who is sitting to Mitchell’s left.

He tenses when he feels a hand touch his thigh and he turns his head sharply Lily’s way. The shake of her head is subtle. The message is clear _not now, wait._ Mitchell sighs quietly and he glances back across the table towards the owner of the obnoxious voice.

“You are indeed correct, I’m from Ireland, Dublin to be exact.” He forces the words out of his mouth and he sees the man slowly smile.

“Ah Dublin. If Ireland is such a free state these days, why did you ever want to leave? After wriggling out from beneath British rule, I thought you’d all be ploughing your miles of potato fields with a song in your proud navvy little hearts,” he laughs and a couple of the other guests titter almost nervously. Mitchell begins to rise as anger swells but feels Lily’s hand tighten on his thigh again. He tenses and looks away. He stares hard at his wineglass, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He mentally counts to five before he returns his attention to him.

“Well as I recall, the reason I left Ireland was to serve _your_ King and _your_ country,” he replies in a low but deadly voice. Silence falls and the two men stare at each other and Mitchell sees his courage begin to fail his opponent. He’s tempted to smile but he likes seeing him quail. He’s going to enjoy ripping his throat out; he’s going to take _great_ pleasure in killing him first.

“You saw action?” His voice weakens, becomes a little nervous and Mitchell’s nod is curt.

“I did.” And he leaves it at that. He looks back at Herrick and Herrick sees the rage in the young man’s eyes. He lifts his glass and takes a contemplative sip of his wine.

* * *

 

The carpets have been rolled back and a gramophone complete with a collection of records has appeared. Mitchell hovers on the edges of the party and he sips at his wine. He’s lost count of how many he’s had but he’s afraid that if he stops then untold mayhem will ensue. He doesn’t feel drunk, just hungry. He sees his detractor across the large room, deep in conversation with Charlotte and he swallows against the dislike that swells inside of him. He wonders whether he can get him in a quiet, undisturbed corner and show him exactly what he thinks of him.

“Everything alright John?” His head snaps to the left when he hears Herrick’s low voice.

“I’ve been better,” he admits, it’s not use lying to him. Herrick regards him. He can see the thin layer of sweat on his brow.

“You need to feed.” He keeps his voice down, making sure that he’s not overheard by anyone. Mitchell doesn’t respond.

“Go on,” Herrick mutters “I’ll make your excuses if anyone notices you’re missing, just don’t make too much of a mess.”

He watches him make a stealthy departure.

* * *

 

The house is huge. He doesn’t want to guess at how many rooms there are in this place. His stomach cramps and growls. He climbs carpeted stairs and they muffle his footsteps. He can hear the music begin to start up and it grows fainter as he climbs more stairs. Soon all that he can hear is silence. Hunger spurs him on. He peers through open doorways, his eyes alert for anything and anyone.

He can hear movement in one of the bedrooms. The door is ajar and he walks slowly towards it. He stands beside the half open door and he listens for a moment. He can hear definite footsteps but as he concentrates, he realises that he doesn’t hear a heartbeat or a pulse. With one finger, he pushes the door wider and the squeak of the hinges is deafening.

He peers around the edge and his eyes widen when he sees Lily emerge from what he assumes is a dressing room with a navy blue flat box in her hands. She grins at him and watches him come inside. His eyes take in the silk lined walls, the sumptuous bed linen and he realises that this must be the bedroom of Charlotte and her husband.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he hisses, striding towards her. He watches her sit down on the side of the bed and open the box. He blinks when he sees the extravagant diamond and ruby set; a necklace, a bracelet and droplet earrings. He doesn’t want to even think what they could be worth.

“Pretty aren’t they? And this is just a drop in the ocean, you would not _believe_ how much jewellery that woman has and not a bit of it locked away. For a youngest son, our Hugh’s not exactly a pauper,” she giggles.

“It doesn’t belong to you,” he warns her and she rolls her eyes.

“Oh relax will you? I doubt she’ll even notice its missing.” He watches how she extracts it all from its velvety confines. The diamonds shimmer a brilliant white fire beneath the lights. He has to concede to her, they are stunning. Her eyes gleam avariciously as she drops them into her evening bag. She closes the box then smiles flirtatiously at him as she gets back up and returns to the dressing room.

They emerge from the bedroom and Mitchell waits as Lily carefully closes the door behind her. She looks at him and slips her hand into his.

“What are you doing up here?” she asks him in a low voice.

“I could ask you the same question, I didn’t realise that you were such a tea leaf,” he hisses back, his eyes sliding around the corridor, looking and waiting for the first inkling of trouble.

“You’re hungry.” His flittering gaze halts and fixes on her face.

“A place this size must have a nursery or kitchen maid that won’t be missed,” he mutters darkly and her eyes gleam in response.

“The nursery is at the top of the house so why don’t we investigate?” she suggests and a slow smile spreads across his face.

“Why don’t we?” he responds and she grins.

* * *

 

“I’ll never understand why folk such as these have kids and then farm them off to someone else to take care of,” Mitchell mutters as they climb another staircase.

“Because they can,” Lily replies quietly and he looks at her.

“Why bother to carry a child in the first place? Why not just pay someone to do it for them?” He frowns.

“We need to get you fed young man, hunger makes you decidedly grouchy.” She squeezes his hand and he glances back at her.

“Young man? I have to be older than you.”

“In numbers maybe, I was twenty one when I was recruited but I’ve been around a lot longer than you have my darling.” They pause at the top of a flight of stairs and he turns to look at her. The scent of her perfume drifts over him.

“How much longer?” he asks. She stares up at him and slowly she smiles and she taps his chin with one long forefinger.

“A lady never tells,” she whispers. He frowns very slightly and he’s then distracted by the sound of a door opening. He turns his head and sees a young girl emerge from the room. She looks no more than sixteen years of age. She’s wearing a long dark dress with a long white apron over the top of it. Her dark hair is pinned securely up out of the way beneath a white cap. She’s carrying a pile of what look like sheets and her eyes widen with surprise when she sees them both standing there.

Mitchell and Lily exchange a look and a slight smile tilts the corner of his mouth. He turns his attention to the maid.

“Where are you off to?” he asks as he approaches her and her eyes go wide again. She seems to shrink back and she presses herself up against the wall.

“I need to take these sheets down to the laundry sir, I don’t have much time otherwise I’ll get into trouble,” she stammers almost breathlessly. Mitchell pauses in front of her and he relieves her of the sheets.

“Why don’t I give you a hand with that?” he suggests. The maid’s mouth opens and closes but no sound emerges. She sends a nervous look Lily’s way before looking back at Mitchell.

“It’s really no trouble sir, it’s part of my job, I would hate for you to spoil your smart suit.” Mitchell smiles at her.

“I insist. You’ll have to show me which way to go of course, I’m useless at finding my way around.” He casts a glance at Lily over one shoulder and she sees his eyes gleam.

* * *

 

She crumples bonelessly to the ground and Mitchell sighs with relief. The best part of feeding is the rush that it gives him. He fairly tingles with the energy that her blood has given him. The younger they are, the greater the vitality. He looks down at her. She was a pretty little thing. He sees blood pool on the floor and he frowns at it.

He disposes of her and goes to look for Lily.

He ignores the sounds of music and laughter as he climbs the stairs again.

He’s back on that landing and there’s no sign of Lily. He then notices that one of the doors is ajar and he goes to investigate.

The room is in partial darkness except for the glow of a single light. He pauses when he sees the two small beds across the room. They’re occupied and he stares at them for a moment before he turns his head.

Lily is standing by a cot. Slowly she turns around and she smiles at him. She has a baby in her arms. Mitchell’s eyes widen. He walks towards her and looks down at the child. It’s staring up at Lily with wide eyes and he frowns slightly.

“What are you doing?” he whispers, aware of the two other occupants of the room.

“Isn’t he just darling? The sweetest little poppet I’ve ever set eyes on,” she breathes. She lifts the baby closer to her face and Mitchell starts, ready to stop her. He’s doesn’t discriminate where blood is concerned but feeding from children feels wrong to him. She lifts her head and her smile vanishes at the expression on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I thought you were…” He indicates the infant and she looks down at him and for a moment she’s confused. Her smile returns.

“I’ve heard it said that the blood of a child is very potent, all of that innocence in there but it’s not really my thing,” she confesses and she turns and he watches her lie the baby back in his cot. She watches him for a moment, a funny little half smile on her face.

“You wanted to have kids,” Mitchell comments and she glances at him.

“Once upon a time, a very long time ago it was just about all that a woman was good for, to be married off and be used as a brood mare to keep a family line in existence but of course that choice was taken away from me one dark night behind a tavern in London and here I am.”

“Do you regret it?” He’s curious about the melancholic expression on her face. She blinks and it’s gone. She turns more fully to face him and she looks up into his eyes.

“Regret immortality? No. This is what I was born for John, this life.” She rests a hand on his chest. There’s a dark frown on his face. A moment stretches out and Mitchell straightens up. He casts a suspicious look towards the two single beds.

“We need to get out of here. I can hear their heartbeats and it’s…distracting,” he confesses. She looks over her shoulder and he stiffens as she walks towards them and peers over at them. She looks at him and her smile is one of pure wickedness.

“Do you think they’ll miss one? After all they have the heir and the spare, what’s one more to them?” Mitchell strides across the room and he grabs her arm. He glances down at the little girl who is sleeping peacefully, unaware of who or what are in the nursery.

“No. We need to leave, _now._ ” He gives her arm and sharp, vicious yank and the smile promptly disappears. He hauls her out of the nursery and he closes the door behind them. She pulls her arm free of his.

“I did _not_ appreciate your tone of voice John Mitchell!” she scolds.

“I thought you didn’t…”

“I was joking, I wasn’t going to…not _really,_ ” she confesses, rubbing her wrist.

“Good to know…” Just the possibility makes him feel just slightly bilious.

“Ah…there you are,” a cool voice interrupts and both of them turn and they see Charlotte on the staircase. Mitchell stares blankly at her for a moment, still annoyed at Lily to fully comprehend that Charlotte is standing on the staircase and that they’ve just emerged from her children’s nursery.

He looks back at Lily.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dinner party continues and Mitchell and Lily get up to mischief.

**Chapter Four:**

“Is there a problem?”

Mitchell’s sigh of relief is almost audible as Herrick comes into view. He pauses at the bottom of the staircase and he regards Mitchell and Lily impassively. Charlotte turns her head and sees him standing there.

“Ah, Mr Herrick,” she greets and ever the gracious hostess, she goes back down the stairs, towards him. He smiles at her.

“I keep forgetting how easy it is to get lost in a house this size. John disappeared earlier, caught…short you see, needed the bathroom.” He lowers his voice to a low confidential whisper. Mitchell glances briefly at Lily, feeling embarrassment burn inside of him.

“He has such a horrible sense of direction, just don’t ever let him loose in a maze that’s all I can say otherwise you’ll never see him again.” He holds out an arm and Charlotte links it. He casts a reproachful look Mitchell’s way again and Mitchell swallows down his anger.

“I’m just relieved that I managed to locate him, now I really must have a drink, how about you?” he asks Charlotte and watches her nod. Mitchell glances back at Lily who slips an arm through his.

* * *

 

They follow at a leisurely pace and return to the living room where the party is still going on strong. Mitchell pauses just inside of the door. Lily regards him and she sees his expression darken slightly. She turns her head and she sees some of the dinner guests indulging in dancing along to the jazz records being played. She looks back at him.

“You don’t dance?” she enquires and his scowl deepens.

“Not if I can possibly help it,” he admits and somehow she’s not shocked or surprised.

“It’s a lot of fun John, you should try it.”

A look of horror breezes across his face. “No,” he replies bluntly. She sighs.

“Oh John.” She walks towards him but he backs away from her and he shakes his head.

“Don’t. It won’t be pretty,” he warns her and she pauses and regards him. He absolutely means it.

“All right. Have it your way, I’ll just have to find someone else.” He watches her sashay across the room and her newest victim is his detractor from dinner earlier. He scowls as he watches how she charms him.

* * *

 

“Please tell me that you didn’t snack on one of the Blythe-Pearson children.”

Mitchell turns his head when he hears Herrick’s voice and he frowns at him.

“Of course I didn’t, Jesus!” he hisses. Herrick raises a surprised eyebrow.

“Then what were you doing up there?” he enquires. Mitchell glances around

“Nursery maid,” he mutters and Herrick slowly nods.

“When I got back, I found Lily in the nursery holding the baby and…cooing over it, I thought….” His words taper off and he barely conceals a shudder.

“Children not your thing then my boy? Wait until you’re just about…dead with hunger and then we’ll see.”

Mitchell’s eyes widen with surprise. “I’d rather starve,” he informs him and Herrick just smiles.

“Of course you would,” he answers and Mitchell frowns at him.

* * *

 

He’s bored. He sits on the staircase with a wine glass in his hand and he wishes for beer, or whisky, he’s not bothered. He’s not especially hungry any more. He wishes that he could control the urge a bit better. He thinks about feeding constantly, thoughts of blood stay with him whatever he does but when he allows himself to get to the point of earlier this evening, then it scares him. It scares him because if he loses complete control, then the results will be catastrophic. Herrick tells him that it takes practice and years of experience but he doesn’t have either just yet.

“What are you doing?” he hears the inquisitive childish voice and he turns his head.

She’s a pretty little thing. Her thin frame is engulfed in a long white lace frilled nightgown. It reminds him of something that a doll would wear. Her hair is long and golden blonde and she has enormous blue eyes. Actually those blue eyes are kind of familiar and he has an inkling of who she is.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replies, watching her. She’s pink and white and very pretty. She regards him curiously.

“You talk funny,” she informs him and he can’t help himself, he smiles slightly.

“Thanks. So do you,” he replies and she frowns very slightly.

“No I don’t,” she argues

“Yes you do, to me you sound funny,” he answers. He watches her as she comes closer to him and lowers herself onto the step beside him. He has to admire her fearlessness.

“What’s your name?” she asks. He frowns at her.

“Why do you want to know?” he asks and she turns her face towards him.

“Because my mummy says that it’s the height of good manners to introduce oneself to new people.”

“And she’s right but you didn’t introduce yourself to me now did you?”

“Alice Blythe-Pearson and I’m five,” she announces with such a sense of self importance that Mitchell almost laughs.

“Well Miss Alice Blythe-Pearson, I’m…”

“Alice! What on earth are you doing out of bed at this hour?” Mitchell’s head snaps around when he hears Charlotte’s scandalised whisper. He watches her come into view and he glances at the little girl who now stares back at her with wide scared eyes.

“I’m sorry mummy but I could hear the music and I wanted to see,” she blurts out. Mitchell looks back at Charlotte and he frowns when he sees the anger in her eyes. She reaches forwards to grab her daughter’s arm. Mitchell stops her and her shocked eyes fly to his face.

“She’s out of the way, she wanted to listen to the music and she was keeping me company,” he informs her in a deceptively calm voice.

“She’s a five year old child who should be in bed,” Charlotte responds waspishly.

“I’m sorry mummy,” Alice whispers again and Mitchell looks at her.

“How about I walk you back up to your room?” he suggests. Alice’s eyes go wide.

“That’s really not necessary Mr Mitchell,” Charlotte interrupts and Mitchell turns his head and looks back at her. There’s a curious tension about her that sets his senses off. He stands up as she brushes past him and she grabs Alice’s arm and hauls her to her feet. He watches her drag her up the stairs, her feet barely reaching the steps. He feels anger bubble beneath the surface. The child was doing no harm to anyone; she was sweet in an odd kind of way. He sighs raggedly and swigs down the last of his wine and he goes to see what is happening with the party.

* * *

 

Lily is still dancing with the guy from dinner and Mitchell scowls. He looks around. There are maybe ten or twelve people present. Some are dancing, others are drinking and some are observing. He sees Herrick across the room and he’s watching Lily with a small frown on his face. The girl seems to be having far too much fun. He makes his way towards Herrick, slipping anonymously around the guests all the while watching and observing. Herrick glances at him as he stops beside him.

“Ah. I was wondering where you’d got to,” he comments.

“I wasn’t far away. Who’s that Lily is dancing with?” He glances at him and he sees Herrick’s slow, sly, knowing smile.

“He got on your nerves earlier, didn’t he?” he answers, knowing full well that he did.

“So what if he did?” His tone turns mildly defensive and Herrick glances at him again.

“Calm down soldier. He’s an idiot. Spoiled, bored and privileged but still an idiot. You have to feel sorry for him, to come from so much money but to have next to nothing between the ears I mean, imagine recruiting _that._ ” His tone becomes disdainful and Mitchell turns his head and watches him dancing with Lily. He can hear him laughing and he doesn’t like what those soft privileged hands are touching.

“I learned my lesson when I recruited Seth. I had hoped that recruitment might afford him a little bit more intelligence but sadly I was mistaken. You can’t improve on what just isn’t there to begin with,” Herrick sighs regretfully and he looks away from Lily and turns to look at Mitchell.

“His name is Robert Bennett and he’s the minor son of someone in the Houses of Parliament, a bit of a tearaway by all accounts,” he informs him. Slowly Mitchell turns his head and he watches Robert Bennett. A gleam shines in his eyes.

“What are you thinking?” Herrick enquires, seeing how his protégé’s expression begins to change.  Mitchell glances at him and he grins.

“You do not want to know,” he confides but Herrick can guess.

* * *

 

He’s patient and he bides his time. He’s like a cat stalking an unsuspecting rodent. This is new territory for him. He usually prefers to blitz his victim, to overwhelm them with strength and ferocity but he wants this Bennett fellow badly. He stays on the outskirts of the party, avoiding eye contact with everyone except Herrick and on occasion, Lily, when she deigns to look his way. He has a feeling that she’s doing this deliberately. It irritates him but he won’t let her see that.

The music is slower now and the pace winds down. He watches Bennett and Lily and sees how he propels her around the makeshift dance floor.

“John?” He stiffens when he feels a hand on his shoulder and he turns his head and scowls at Charlotte. He instantly relaxes his expression.

“Normally it’s the gentleman who asks but this time…” She indicates the other couples dancing and his eyes widen marginally as he realises her intention. His mouth goes dry. It’s not that he can’t dance, he can, it’s just that he prefers not to but he sees the question in her eyes and he feels strangely cornered. He sighs and takes her hand.

He glances down at her. She barely reaches past his shoulder. Her big eyes are fixed on his face and her scrutiny makes him feel slightly uncomfortable. He looks away, his eyes searching for Bennett and Lily. They’re not far away and Mitchell feels a prickle of annoyance at how Lily seems to snuggle up to him. What in Christ’s name is she playing at?

“John?” It takes a second for her voice to filter through.  He looks down at her.

“I was wondering…whether we could meet up later…” she begins and he frowns darkly at her. Her pale cheeks flush pinkly and she glances away.

“Once the party is over…there’s something that I need to…discuss…with you.” He continues to stare at her, wondering what on earth she could want to speak to _him_ about?

“What would you need to talk to me about?” he enquires. She shakes her head slightly.

“Not here. Not now,” she replies, her tone becoming breathy and almost…intimate. The record ends and there is silence. Mitchell continues to stare at her. That uncomfortable tension is back again and he has no idea why. He lifts his head when he sees Lily make an exit, holding onto Bennett’s hand. He frowns again.

“Excuse me,” he mutters and disappears after them.

As he exits the main room he hears Lily’s unmistakeable giggle. He turns his head in time to catch a flash of red. He follows, striding purposefully along the corridor. He looks to his right and pauses when he sees the front door wide open. He hears her laugh again and he strides towards it.

He emerges from the house and stands on the wide steps and he sees two shadowy figures hurrying across the driveway towards what he remembers now is the way to gardens. He’d flicked them a bored glance on their way in. He smiles to himself and sets off after them.

* * *

 

It’s very dark. He walks slowly, cautiously, every sense on alert. The only light is from the full moon that occasionally peeks out from behind an errant cloud. He thanks everything for vampiric enhanced senses on a night like this. He can hear the summer breeze rush through the tree branches and he’s reminded of his escapade with the blonde after the jazz club and he smiles to himself. He hopes that this adventure is as much fun.

He slows when he hears muffled laughter. He pauses and listens intently for a moment. He turns his head to the side and he grins and begins to walk again.

Their voices grow louder as he gets closer. He can just make them out in the gloom. They’re beneath a tree. He can hear Bennett’s heartbeat, it’s beating like a steam engine and he pauses again and pushes his hands into the pocket of his trousers and just listens for a moment. Bennett has his back to him and he’s leaning over Lily in a manner which is overly familiar. He hears her laugh again and this spurs Mitchell on.

“Am I interrupting anything?” he enquires and he has the satisfaction of seeing Bennett pause. He lifts his head from the curve of Lily’s neck and turns his head his way.

“Actually, yes you are,” he replies haughtily and Mitchell swallows against the irritation that flares.

“Actually I wasn’t talking to you,” Mitchell replies and walks closer to them. Lily’s pale skin almost glows beneath the moonlight; it makes her look ethereal and faerie like. She smiles at him.

 “Hello darling,” he greets and leans down and presses a kiss on her cool cheek.

“You took your time sweetie,” she tells him and he hears the amusement in her voice.

“Sorry, took me a minute to realise, peasant stock y’know,” Mitchell apologises but he doesn’t mean a word of it.

“I beg your pardon, who the hell do you think you are?” Bennett gasps in outrage. Mitchell turns his head and regards him.

“You probably don’t remember me but I haven’t forgotten about you.” His voice becomes low and dangerous. Bennett stares at him and Mitchell sees recognition dawn.

“Oh my God, I do remember you! From dinner!” Bennett exclaims. Mitchell turns more fully around

“You hurt my feelings rather badly in there, insulting my countrymen like that.”

“I was joking!”

Mitchell takes a step towards him and notices his halting half step backwards. “Imagine if I’d insulted all you fine, upstanding Englishmen? Imagine the uproar but hey, say what you want about the token Irishman, he won’t mind.” He takes another step towards Bennett. He can smell the fear coming off him in waves.

“The trouble is, I do mind, I mind very much.” His voice is quiet, lethal and full of the threat of trouble.

Bennett’s eyes go wide.

“I honestly didn’t mean to upset you. Please…I…I apologise profusely. Sometimes I speak before I think; it’s a dreadful habit of mine.”

“You’d think a bloke like you would know all about manners and such like wouldn’t you? but you spoiled, rich brats are all the same. You think you’re entitled to do as you please, do what you please and speak as you please.” He grabs Bennett by the lapels of his jacket and hears him whimper with fright. Mitchell smiles coldly.

“Ah, not such the big man now are you?” He looks him up and down. He turns his head slightly as Lily comes to stand beside him. Her expression is one of amusement.

“What shall we do with the big man Lily?” he asks, his tone almost bemused.

“Oh believe me darling, he’s not so big,” Lily answers and this time Mitchell’s smile is genuine.

“Really? So he’s all mouth and no trousers then?”

“A _lot_ of trousers, there’s not a lot going on down there if you catch my meaning.”

“Apparently there’s not a lot going on up there either. Poor sod.” He looks back at him.

“Shall we kill him sweetheart? I’m starting to feel a little…peckish.” He sees the fear light up Bennett’s eyes and he tightens his grip as he begins to struggle.

“K…kill me? O...over a misguided comment that I’ve already apologised for?” Bennett stammers.

“I haven’t decided whether I want to accept your apology or not,” Mitchell hisses at him.

“You really, _really_ hurt his feelings earlier,” Lily interjects and Bennett’s scared eyes wheel her way.

“Please Lily, you can’t let him do this…it’s m…murder…for the love of God!” he exclaims.

“I can and I will I’m afraid,” she replies mildly. She then grins and she seems to almost vibrate with excitement.

“Please,” Bennett whispers, looking back at Mitchell, his panic stricken eyes so wide as to almost fall out of their sockets. “Please…I have m…money, j…just name your price and it’s y…yours,” he begs and Mitchell’s answering smile is cruel. He casts another glance Lily’s way.

“Awww Lily, did you hear what he said? Offering us money, isn’t that just the kind of thing a rich brat like him would do, as if that’ll make everything alright.” He turns his attention back to Bennett and he lets his eyes turn inky black and Bennett gasps.

“What are you?” he whispers frantically. Mitchell grins obscenely.

“Your worst nightmare Mr Bennett,” he whispers.

* * *

 

He spins Bennett around and throws him up against the tree with enough force to stun him slightly. Mitchell keeps a tight hold of his lapel. Bennett’s eyes are rolling and Mitchell can smell his terror. He’s muttering something beneath his breath but he can’t make any sense out of it.

His fangs pierce his skin with a satisfying pop and he closes his eyes in anticipation and drinks the hot rich blood that begins to flow. The heat of it rejuvenates and revitalises him and it goes on and on. He hears Bennett’s heartbeat accelerate as initial panic grips him and he feels his fists beat against his shoulders with decreasing strength until eventually they fall uselessly by his sides. Finally his heartbeat ceases. Once this happens Mitchell raises his head and he turns black eyes Lily’s way. Bennett’s blood drips from his chin and he hands him off to her.

“I hope you’ve left me enough,” Lily chides as her eyes flash obsidian. Mitchell watches her begin to feed and his legs start to feel a little weak as his initial bout of self- righteous anger begins to leave him. He staggers away from them and then sinks down to his knees onto the cool green grass. He closes his eyes as different but familiar emotions swamp over him. With the back of his hand, he swipes at his mouth and he brushes away errant bits of flesh that cling stubbornly to his fangs. Once complete, he smiles to himself.

“Are you feeling all right darling?” He opens his eyes and he looks at her as she sits down beside him.

“Never better, how about you?”

“I think the phrase you would use is, grand. That was a lot of fun now wasn’t it?” She grins at him and he looks over his shoulder at Bennett’s useless dead body crumpled beneath the tree where Lily has left it.  He sighs.

“I suppose we’d better dispose of the evidence,” he grumbles.  Lily casts it a disparaging look before returning her attention to him. She moves closer to him and her eyes are sparkling.

“Later,” she whispers and she kisses him.

* * *

 

He’s tumbling backwards until he’s lying flat on the grass. Lily moves closer to him and then straddles across him. His hands come up to grasp her upper arms and he pulls her away from him. She blinks for a moment, taken a little by surprise.

“We’re outdoors,” he reminds her in a low voice. He watches her smile again, a wide, sparkling excited smile that had he actually owned one, would send his pulse pounding.

“Live a little John,” she whispers. He loosens his hold on her arms and allows her to kiss him again.

She gives a little squeal as all of a sudden he rolls and now she’s the one who is lying flat on her back in the grass. He grins at her, scanning her face, watching her reaction. He lowers his head and his first kiss is gentle, exploratory almost. Her hands come up to touch his face but he reaches for them, holds them in place by her head as his embrace becomes bolder, more confident. He lifts his head and he grins at her again as she struggles a little against his capture.

“Want me to stop?” he whispers in a rough voice.

“Don’t you dare,” she hisses back. He laughs quietly and lets go of her hands.

He claims her mouth in another kiss and as he does so, his hand reaches for the hem of her blood red dress and he slowly pushes it upwards. His hand explores further and he feels silk. He draws back slightly and glances down. Her stockings are rolled scandalously to the knee and he looks back at her. She is reaching for him again. She unfastens his bow tie and she reaches for the opening of his shirt. He shrugs off his jacket and she pulls his shirt free of the waistband of his trousers. A sigh hisses from him as her hands find bare flesh and strokes it.

Buttons are unfastened; clothing is pushed to one side. He pushes his way inside and she’s urging him on, urging him to take what he wants and he does. She’s responsive, primal and some part of him is shocked at how forward she is and another part is excited, so damned excited to have her like this. He feels his control slip away. He can feel her, he can smell her and he has tasted her and she’s like a drug, an addictive opiate. He doesn’t think he can ever have enough of her and when his release comes, he thinks that she will be the utter end of him.

* * *

 

They walk back to the house hand in hand. He can barely take his eyes off her. She is beautiful; she is utter perfection in his eyes. He looks at her and he can see stars. He looks up into the night sky.

“You’re sure no one will find him?” he asks her in a low voice. The look she sends him is flirtatious.

“Believe me, nobody will find him until long after we’ve left,” she informs him and she squeezes his hand. As they come closer to the house, they see the cars in the driveway and they pause and watch one of them pull away.

“The party must be over,” Mitchell tells her.

“At last,” Lily sighs and he frowns at her.

“You looked like you were having a wonderful time!” he accuses and she rolls her eyes.

“I’ve been told a few times that I’m rather an accomplished actress. I saw how Bennett irritated you at dinner and he needed to be taught a lesson so that’s what I did, we taught him a lesson,” she tells him. She rests her cheek against his arm.

“I think you ended up enjoying yourself didn’t you my darling?” she smiles coquettishly up at him and his answering smile is wide.

“I did, thank you.” She stands on tiptoe and presses a kiss on his mouth.

* * *

 

They enter the house and the silence is a big relief. All of a sudden Mitchell is tired. The lure of sleep is promising and he follows Lily to the staircase, his bedroom upper most in his mind.

“Where have you two been?” They both pause and turn to see Herrick emerge from the drawing room. He has a drink in his hand and he takes in their dishevelled appearances and he rolls his eyes.

“I don’t think I want to know,” he sighs and Mitchell stiffens.

“We went for a walk…” he begins and the look Herrick affords him is glacial.

“And something else too I’m sure. Like I said, I _don’t_ want to know.” He turns his attention to Lily.

“Why don’t you run along to your room Lily? I need to have a word with the soldier here.” His dismissal is effective. Mitchell sees how her eyes narrow. He reaches out and touches her upper arm.

“It’s fine. I’ll see you in the morning.” He presses a chaste kiss on her cheek and he watches her climb the stairs. Once she’s out of sight, he turns to look at Herrick and he walks down to meet him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks in a low voice and Herrick slowly shrugs.

“I’m not sure but Charlotte Blythe Pearson has been waiting for you for the past fifteen minutes, she’s in there and she wants to talk to you… _alone._ ”

Mitchell frowns at him. “What the hell does she want?” he hisses and Herrick gives an elegant shrug.

“I have no idea but she’s most insistent that she speaks with you. You’ve made quite an impression on her young man.” If at all possible, Mitchell’s scowl deepens, making him look downright intimidating. He sighs.

“I can’t. I just want to go to my room and sleep, I can’t be bothered with her right now, could you make my excuses? Please?” Herrick regards him and a couple of seconds stretch out between them and then he sighs loudly.

“Fine, I’ll make your excuses but you owe me.”

“Thank you.” His smile of relief is a quick flash and he’s turning towards the staircase again and climbing the stairs.

Herrick watches him. He hasn’t seen Robert Bennett leave the party and he has a very good idea what Lily and John have been up to, apart from the obvious. He could smell sex on them from several feet away and the soldier has a familiar expression on his face that can’t bode well for any of them.

He’s making the mistake of thinking he’ll be her one and only when he knows for a fact that he never will be.

Herrick turns towards the drawing room and he sighs with irritation and he stiffens his spine and plasters a false smile on his face and goes to face Charlotte Blythe-Pearson.

He’s at his best when he has to think on his feet.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitchell has an assignation....and warnings abound for material of a more adult nature.

**Chapter Five:**

The squeak of the door hinges pulls Mitchell out of a deep sleep. As he turns his head, he sees a flash of dim light at his bedroom door opens and then quickly closes. He hears footsteps pad towards him.

“Lily?” he whispers drowsily, levering himself up. It’s pitch black and he can’t see a thing. Then he catches a drift of perfume and he realises as he feels a soft weight on his bed and the shadows become fainter he can see the pale outline of her face. His eyes widen in surprise.

“Charlotte?” He squints as a soft light fills the room. He turns his head slightly to look at her.

“What’s wrong? What are you doing in here?” he asks, slightly startled that she’s in his room like this. He pulls the blankets further upwards towards his chest and he shifts uncomfortably.

“I wanted to see you earlier, after the party but Mr Herrick informed me that you were…indisposed.” She’s wearing nightwear of pale blue silk. He tears his eyes away from what she’s wearing and he frowns at her.

“Couldn’t it have waited til the morning Charlotte? I’d had too much to drink, I didn’t think you’d…appreciate seeing me like that,” he replies.

“No, it couldn’t,” she retorts and he looks back at her when he hears the steel in her voice.

“Look, this is really…inappropriate; you’re a married woman coming into a strange man’s bedroom. You don’t know… anything about me…” he begins.

“Oh my husband doesn’t care what I do these days, we don’t even share a bedroom anymore,” she interrupts impatiently. She sighs shakily. “As far as Hugh is concerned, I’ve served my purpose, he has his children, his precious future.” Her voice tapers off and she looks at him.

“If you’re looking for a quick tumble Charlotte…” He has the satisfaction of watching her blush fiercely and she seems to struggle a little for composure. She bites her bottom lip.

“You’re a very…arresting looking man John. You caught my attention the moment you came into my home.” Her eyes seem to be trained at a point below his chin and he fights against the urge to look down. He doesn’t wear pyjamas, he never has, he finds them uncomfortable and restrictive. He’s beginning to wish that maybe for this trip he’d made an exception. He watches her move closer to him.

“Charlotte…if you’re thinking about… well I don’t think it’s such a good idea.” Her eyes flick up to his face and she frowns very slightly.

“Why not?” she asks bluntly. For a moment he flounders for an answer, remembering belatedly that she’s essentially the hostess of this weekend shenanigan and the wrong word could potentially send everything to hell in a hand basket.

“Because…” He pauses.

“Because I’m married?  I’ve already told you that Hugh doesn’t care what I do, I know what he gets up to when he’s in Bristol or London, he has mistresses, he’s unfaithful but as long as I turn a blind eye, he pays the bills, he looks after the children and myself. I don’t care that he has these… _arrangements_ because that means he doesn’t bother me.” Her voice is low and somewhat fierce.

“If you have such an aversion to…sex, why are you here with me?” Mitchell hisses back at her.

“I don’t have an aversion to sex John, just sex with Hugh,” she confides and his eyes go a little bit wider.

“So you thought you’d come sniffing around me instead?” He frowns at her and he sees her expression change. He watches her stand up, her spine suddenly stiff and he climbs out of bed to face her.

“You don’t know anything about me Charlotte, anything at all,” he tells her. She glares at him.

“I saw you leave the house earlier,” she hisses at him. He frowns, going very still.

“So I went for a walk, I’ve already explained to you that I’d had too much to drink, I needed to clear my head.”

“Does that include having sex in the open air with Lily Vale?” she retaliates and he freezes.

“Be careful Charlotte, be very _very_ careful,” he warns her in a low voice.

“So you’ll admit to having sex with her in the open air but you turn me down?” She sounds so indignant that laughter threatens to bubble up inside of him and he struggles to contain it.

“Jesus Charlotte, have you listened to yourself? You’re _married_ , you’re married to the host of this weekend’s shindig and I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you at this time of night!” he replies in amazement.

“And I’ve already told you, he doesn’t care and neither do I!”

“Now you’re beginning to sound desperate, are you that starved of affection?” He lowers his voice. In the soft light he sees tears shimmer in her eyes and he feels himself weaken. Even now, tears have the power to undo him and it’s a flaw that he doesn’t seem to be able to get the better of at the moment. He sighs and takes a step towards her, placing his hands on her upper arms.

“Charlotte,” he sighs. It seems that his touch is the catalyst, the encouragement that she needs and she all but throws himself into his arms. It takes him momentarily by surprise. His arms go around her. She feels warm and again her perfume surrounds him. She stands on tiptoe and she kisses him. For a moment he lets it happen before he tears her away.

“Hey now,” he chides.

“John…please,” she breathes. He feels her hands on him, her fingernails scraping across his chest. They slide across his stomach and downwards. He feels his body react. He looks down at her and his expression darkens. He bends his head and claims her mouth in another kiss. As he lifts his head again, he grabs her arm and pulls it back up and she glares defiantly at him. The moment stretches out between them and finally Mitchell turns her so that her back is against the bed. Her eyes go wide with shock and his expression becomes almost sarcastic.

“What’s the matter? If you want me darlin’ then it’s on my terms,” he warns her and he gives her a gentle but very definite push.

* * *

 

She lands flat on her back on the mattress and he’s over her in an instant. He pulls the silk gown upwards and he notices that she isn’t wearing underwear. Somehow he isn’t surprised but it’s a fleeting thought as he grasps her thighs and he pulls her closer to him. His underwear is quickly discarded. Her eyes remain fixed on his face and he doesn’t break eye contact either as he raises her hips slightly and without ceremony, without invitation, he pushes himself deep inside of her.

He hears her sharp intake of breath and he pauses for just a second. He sees how her eyes briefly close. He feels how she tenses up.  Her eyes open again and once more she’s looking at him. Once more he doesn’t break eye contact.

“I’m not your genteel lord of the manor Charlotte, if you want to change your mind, now is the time to tell me,” he whispers to her. A long moment stretches out between them and finally she shakes her head.

 He feels the heat of her and he has to admit that physically it feels nice but emotionally he feels absolutely nothing, except for the obvious. If he wants to be crude then she’s just a means to an end but she surprises him. He watches as she reaches for him but he doesn’t want her to lay her hands on him, if she touches him then to him it becomes more intimate and he doesn’t want that. He pushes her arms down and he holds them in place. He leans forwards and he stares into her eyes, his face expressionless. He doesn’t want her to think that this is anything special.

She’s a means to an end.

“No. Don’t,” he whispers with a quick shake of his head. He doesn’t want any affection between them. As he thrusts, he feels his darker side begin to fight through, batter through his iron clad self-control. The urge to feed surges forward and he struggles. He knows that if he touches her, he’ll lose it completely and catastrophically. He can’t, somehow he can’t allow that to happen. He feels her come, feels her shiver and gasp his name and then she’s quiet.

* * *

 

When it’s over he moves away from her and he leaves her lying on his bed. He pulls on his trousers from the previous evening and when he turns around, Charlotte is sitting up. Her normally pale complexion is flushed; her usually immaculate hair is tousled and untidy. She looks well used. His expression is dark. He feels uncomfortable; he wants her to leave him alone. He wants a cigarette and he looks around the room trying to locate them.

He feels strangely sated somewhat but at the same time drained.  He wants her to leave. Post coital conversation is not his thing. He watches her slip off the bed and walk towards him. He watches her warily.

“See you in the morning John,” she murmurs. He remains immobile as she stands on tiptoe and presses a kiss on his cheek. He turns his head slightly and watches her leave. Once the door clicks shut, he lowers his cigarette case onto the table and he sighs.

If Charlotte has witnessed him having sex with Lily, he has to wonder at what else she has witnessed. He frowns. Maybe she hasn’t, maybe that was all she saw.

He needs to talk to Herrick.

* * *

 

He doesn’t sleep very well after that and he’s cautious the following morning as he makes his way down the staircase. He keeps his eyes open for Charlotte. He intends to keep out of her way. He needs to talk to Herrick and he hopes that he’s around somewhere.

“Morning soldier!” His voice is jovial and Mitchell starts.

“Oh sorry, I keep forgetting you’re not a morning person which makes me wonder what you’re doing up so early.” He scans his face and he sees the tension in his eyes. He frowns. “What’s the matter?” he sighs.

“When are we leaving here?” Mitchell demands to know in a low voice.

“Why? What’s the hurry?”

“Just have this feeling that’s all,” Mitchell admits and Herrick notices how his eyes skitter away, flit around the room.

“Who’s upset you now?” he enquires in a mild voice and that gets Mitchell’s attention. He stares at him. He opens his mouth.

“Good morning Mr Herrick, good morning John.” Mitchell freezes when he hears Charlotte’s voice. He watches her come into view. She smiles at them both.

“What a wonderful morning don’t you think? How did you both sleep, well I hope? I slept extremely well.” She smiles at them both but Mitchell doesn’t respond and Herrick finds that very curious.

“I hope you’re going to stay for the party we’re throwing this evening? A masked ball with a supernatural element, exciting don’t you think?” Her eyes are sparkling and she drifts past them in a cloud of expensive perfume. Mitchell waits until she’s out of earshot before he turns to look at Herrick again.

“We’re not staying for her bloody party!” he hisses. Herrick regards him and he slowly, coldly smiles.

“Oh I don’t know. A masked ball, could be…fun don’t you think?”

“Then I’m going back to Bristol, I don’t want to be here,” Mitchell informs him in a tight voice. Herrick regards him and he frowns darkly.

“You will not be returning to Bristol until I say otherwise. You will remain here by my side and if you even think about sneaking off then there will be serious repercussions, do you understand me?” The two men glare at each other.

“Fine,” Mitchell hisses and Herrick watches him storm away. He sighs raggedly and rolls his eyes; young vampires are so _temperamental_ these days.

* * *

 

He doesn’t knock on the door or wait for an invitation. He goes straight inside and he slams the door behind him. The slap of the door in the frame makes the occupant of the bed sit bolt upright. Mitchell stops at the bottom of the bed and he looks at her. Her eyes are covered by a dark satin sleep mask and her hair is unbound and tumbling over her shoulders and over her breasts in a mass of dark brown curls. The sight of it dumbfounds him temporarily. He’s only ever seen her with her hair bound.

“You better have a bloody good reason for waking me at this ungodly hour,” she snarls as she rips off the mask. She glares at him.

“What time is it?” she watches him walk around to sit on the side of her bed.

“Don’t know,” he mutters frowning blackly. The glare dissipates and she watches him.

“What’s wrong?” she enquires in a softer voice. He turns his head and he looks at her.

“Charlotte Blythe-Pearson,” he admits. Lily sits up straighter.

“What about her?” she asks. He stares at her, taking in her blue eyes, her pale skin. Even without the veil of cosmetics, she’s stunning. She’s the antithesis of Charlotte in every way.

“She came to my room last night, well early this morning, woke me up,” he mutters, looking away.

“And what did she want?” There’s a curiosity in her tone that makes him look at her again. Her eyes are glittering with something, he’s not sure what.

“What do you think?” he hisses back and watches a slow smile blossom on her face.

“And did you?” His answering silence speaks volumes and she laughs quietly.

“Oh you naughty, _naughty_ boy,” she gently chides and she shuffles closer to him and she slides an arm across his shoulders.

“She said she saw us…you and me…after we killed Bennett.”

“Oh did she now?”

“She said she saw us…” he sighs shakily “but what if she saw something more, what if she saw what we did to Bennett?” He frowns again.

“Did she say as much?” Lily asks and watches Mitchell shake his head.

“Then she probably didn’t.” She regards him but his frown doesn’t disappear as she’d hoped.

“What?”

“There’s something about her Lily, just something that I can’t fathom out. I picked up on it the moment we were introduced,” he admits.

“She’s infatuated with you, with a face like yours darling you have to expect it. It’s something that you can use to your advantage, believe me it will pay dividends.” She smiles again.

“And with that gorgeous roguish accent, you’re irresistible.” She traces the side of his face with one long fingernail. He manages a faint smile at the compliment.

“I wanted us to return to Bristol today, to just…get away from all of this but Charlotte insists we stay for her party tonight, a masked ball of all things and Herrick said we have to stay for it,” he mutters miserably. He sees her smile again.

“A masked ball you say? Such possibilities.” She grins wider and Mitchell frowns at her in puzzlement.

“That’s almost exactly what Herrick said,” he replies and she chuckles.

“And he’ll be right,” Lily whispers to him. She moves closer to him.

“The chances are Charlotte didn’t see _everything_ that we did last night and if she did and she tries to…cause trouble, then we have ways of dealing with it, brutal but necessary ways. You’re still young Mitchell, one day you’ll know what to do without having to second guess yourself, already its becoming instinctual, but the older you get, the better you become at self-preservation.” She watches him nod. She remembers the coldly vicious John Mitchell of last night. She remembers his confidence, she remembers his _depravity_. He still has his moments of conscience and he still remembers what it feels like to cling onto that shred of humanity and feel something other than cold indifference.

She needs to show him the other side of that coin. She needs to show him that the world is his for the taking.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitchell blows hot and cold...

**Chapter Six:**

_He watches her turn her head in his direction._

_“It’s …you,” she breathes and he smiles very softly._

_“Who do you think it is?” He watches her slowly blink cloudy eyes and he knows that she remembers._

_“From the… house…it’s been… so long ago but I’ve never forgotten your… voice, your accent,” she whispers, her voice slow and halting. She’s recovering from a stroke that has twisted half of her face, paralysed part of her body._

_“It was such a long time ago, how can you be so sure?” he asks. He keeps his voice low. He doesn’t want the nurse in the ward to know that one of her patients has a late night visitor._

_“Your voice, you have such a… recognisable voice.”_

_“It’s been over eighty years Alice; you know it doesn’t make any sense.” He can’t resist the jab and he sees her brief look of confusion._

_“I know what I saw… back then, I won’t let you convince me… otherwise.” Her voice is low, barely a whisper. He frowns at her._

_“You were a child.”_

_“You could have… killed me that… night but you… didn’t. Why didn’t …you?” she asks, her voice beginning to rise._

_He gently squeezes her hand._ _“You’d do well to keep your voice down, I’m not supposed to be here and you’re not supposed to be having visitors at this time of night,” he warns her. He lifts his head when he hears footsteps._

_The nurse draws back the curtain and she regards her patient worriedly._

_“Is everything okay Alice?” she asks. She watches the old lady turn her head restlessly and she can hear her mumbling beneath her breath. Her eyes skim around her bed. There’s nobody here though she’d swear that she heard her talking to someone. It attracted her attention because Alice Blythe-Pearson never has visitors._

_He listens intently and eventually he emerges silently from his hiding place. He sits back down at her bedside. He reaches for her hand again and his touch seems to settle her a little._

_“Alice,” he whispers._

* * *

 

He leaves her room a little while later feeling a little calmer but thoughts of Charlotte niggle at the back of his mind like a rotten tooth.

He’s hungry but he doesn’t want to go to the dining room and chance running into Charlotte there. He knows he’s being a coward by avoiding her but it’s the only way he knows of how to cope. She disturbs him. There’s also the fact that despite what she has claimed, the very idea of sitting opposite Hugh Blythe-Pearson with the knowledge that he’s tumbled his wife is enough to give him a bad case of indigestion.

He makes his way to the kitchens and instead he charms the cook into making him a round of toast and some strong tea in an earthenware mug. He sits at a well-scrubbed table and eats and he absorbs the machinations of the household all the while being ignored. It helps to make everything settle inside of him. He gets more than one curious look and he can almost read their thoughts, why would a guest of the house choose to eat below stairs with the rest of them?

Wouldn’t they love to know?

He takes a tentative step into the library. He pauses and his eyes scan the interior. It’s quiet, as silent as the grave. He listens but he can’t hear any signs of life. He takes another cautious step inside. His eyes take in his surroundings and go round at the floor to ceiling shelving that are stuffed with books. He walks towards one of them and his eyes scan the leather bound titles. His mam was insistent that he be educated. She didn’t want her only child to run wild and illiterate on the streets and then end up in the worst kind of trouble. It had been a pain in the arse when all he wanted to do was run wild on the streets but a secret part of him was glad that she’d been persistent because before his recruitment, he’d been slowly but steadily climbing the ladder of promotion. Before he encountered Herrick, he’d just made sergeant. He doubts he would have done that without a decent education under his belt, or at least an education that was decent enough for _him_ at the time. He isn’t exactly bookish but he likes to read, or once upon a time he had liked to. Now he just doesn’t have the time. Herrick keeps him busy, Lily keeps him on his toes and he isn’t even going to think about Charlotte. His eyes scan the titles and he admits to having heard of almost none of them. He reaches out and his fingertips trace the cool leather bindings, the engraved gold titles and he tilts his head to the side slightly and hooks one of them out to peruse. He’s been chased out of the kitchen by the cook who has tonight’s party to help organise. She chased him out with a smile and a twinkle of her faded green eyes at his Irish charm and seemingly good manners. If only she really knew. He may be a monster but even the most dangerous of monsters have manners.  He smiles to himself.

“Care to share the joke?” Her voice makes his spine stiffen and he freezes. He turns his head and he sees Charlotte standing in the doorway. He holds the book in his hand and he watches her walk towards him. He just shakes his head. She pauses beside him. He can feel the warmth of her skin as she brushes against him. She lifts the book from his hands and she glances at the title.

“You like to read John?” she enquires in a low voice. His eyes are still on her face and he shrugs wordlessly.

“Sometimes,” he admits. He watches her gaze rest on his face. She turns so that she’s facing him. She hands the book back to him. She smiles flirtatiously.

“Last night John…”

“Will never happen again,” he injects and he sees the look of utter shock cross her face.

“But…if you’re worried about…”

“I’m not worried about anything…or anyone. It was a mistake, you caught me in a moment of regrettable weakness and it won’t happen again.” He keeps his voice low but his intention is plain and very clear.

“John.” She puts her hand on his chest and his reaction is immediate. He grabs her by her upper arms and at the same time pushes her backwards, keeping her at arm’s length. She connects to the bookcase with an audible thump and she blinks at him in wide eyed shock. He glares at her.

“You don’t touch me, you don’t speak to me. As far as you’re concerned, nothing happened last night, nothing at all.” His voice is quiet but she feels the strength of his grip. “Do you understand me?” Her answering nod is frantic and he releases his hold on her. He turns and strides away.

Charlotte sighs shakily and wraps her arms around her body.

* * *

 

Mitchell returns to his room. Charlotte makes him feel off kilter and not in a good way. She makes him feel extremely uneasy and he’s frustrated that neither Herrick or Lily will take him seriously enough to actually leave this godforsaken place. He pauses when he sees his tuxedo from the previous night hung up against the wardrobe door. He regards it distrustfully. The shirt is also there, pristine and clean. The night before it had been covered in tiny splatters of blood and he wonders whether that has raised any suspicion below stairs. He hears the door squeak and he spins around.

She’s standing in the doorway and she’s watching him with wide but curious blue eyes. He exhales loudly.

“Alice. You startled me,” he admits.

“You looked cross. You look scary when you frown like that”

“I do, do I?”

Alice just nods. “You do that a lot. You frown a lot,” she adds. He watches her walk into his room and stop just inside of the door. She looks tiny and doll like.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asks after a moment. She looks up at him in that frank and unfettered way that only a child can. She shakes her head.

“I’m bored,” she announces and he barely refrains from rolling his eyes. He pushes his hands into his trouser pockets and regards her for a moment.

“Don’t you have books to look at, toys to play with?” he suggests and she just shrugs narrow little shoulders.

“You could play with me,” she informs him and he bites back a smile at her cheeky impertinence. He feels his earlier annoyance begin to evaporate.

“Oh could I now? Somehow playing tea parties with your dolls doesn’t seem like my idea of a good time,” he teases and he’s rewarded with a smile. She ventures closer to him.

“I don’t play with dolls,” she informs him loftily and he chuckles.

“Even though you look like one?” Her eyes go wide.

“I do not!” she exclaims.

“Oh I think that you do, all pink and white and pretty in your lovely dress and shiny shoes.” He watches her scowl down at them.

“Mummy says that I have to wear them but I’d rather not. I want to be like a boy and climb trees and go fishing. Did you climb trees and go fishing when you were my size?”

“I did. I climbed a few trees in my time, fell out of a few too, scared my poor mam half to death in the process,” he confides. It feels like such a long time ago. She stares up at his face. Then she smiles.

“You _do_ sound funny. I like your voice, it sounds warm and friendly.”

His eyes quickly lose their warmth. “Alice, you don’t know me at all so you don’t know if I’m friendly or not,” he tells her. Her smile promptly disappears. He sees a little bit of fear in her eyes. He can deal with fear better than what he saw in those blue eyes. He doesn’t want her to trust him or even to like him.

“Oh how nice,” another voice interrupts and Mitchell sees Lily and he sighs quietly. Lily smiles at Alice who just regards her with almost hostile suspicion. She then sends Mitchell a wary look and both of them watch her turn tail and run away. Lily turns her head Mitchell’s way and widens her eyes almost comically.

“Was it something I said?” she announces and he smiles and just shakes his head. He watches her walk towards him. She’s wearing a dress of emerald green and her hair is pinned up and shining in the light. He sits down on a chair by the window and just enjoys the view.

“Why haven’t you ever cut your hair?” he asks as she pauses in front of him. He watches her as she drops onto his lap. She slides her arms around his neck.

“I’ve never felt the urge to do so, even though it’s the fashion.”

“It would look very nice short,” he murmurs, trailing a finger along the length of her pale neck. She smiles at him and her eyes sparkle.

“If you want to call it anything, call it my Achilles Heel. My hair has got me a lot of male attention in the past. I suppose I’m vain in that respect,” she answers. He looks at it and he has to admit, seeing her hair unbound earlier in the morning had struck him briefly dumb. She turns her head a little more so that they’re eye to eye.

“Actually John Mitchell…we have something to…discuss,” she murmurs and a slight smile tilts the corners of his mouth.

“Do we now?” His breath hisses in his throat as she gives an experimental wiggle and she smiles slowly.

“We do. You left me in my room earlier and you didn’t kiss me. Not even once.” She pretends to pout.

“Didn’t I? Well now I’ll have to rectify that won’t I?”

She grins, showing off even white teeth.

* * *

 

Charlotte pauses in the doorway in time to see them embrace and the jealousy flares inside her like wildfire. His rejection of her still stings. She clenches her hands into tight angry fists. She sees how his hand comes up to cup the back of her neck and she feels longing rise sharply.

Lily turns her head and she sees her standing in the doorway. Her smile is slow and sly. She feels Mitchell’s mouth on her neck and she briefly closes her eyes in bliss. Then they blink open and she stares at Charlotte.

“We have company darling,” she whispers and Mitchell cranes his neck to see.

“Charlotte.” His tone is flat and unwelcoming. Lily gets to her feet as Charlotte marches into the room.

“Come on in, everyone else seems to,” he murmurs as he slowly gets to his feet. He sees the anger and also the spite in Charlotte’s eyes.

“Do you know who he was with last night?” she hisses at Lily who straightens, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Define which part of last night,” she responds.

“Oh I know all about your open air fun and games.” She casts Mitchell a derisive look. Instead of looking offended, Lily smiles slowly.

“I didn’t know you were such a voyeur Charlotte, you should’ve announced yourself, you could’ve joined in.” She widens her eyes “or are you the type that only likes to watch?” she insinuates. She’s satisfied to hear Charlotte’s outraged gasp.

“Oh come now, there’s no need for you to act all affronted, I know who _you_ were with last night and what you were doing. Does your husband know where you were?” She lowers her voice almost confidentially.

“I won’t have you speak to me like that in my own home!” Charlotte gasps.

“You started it by barging in here with your insinuations,” Lily retorts.

“Ladies…” Mitchell intervenes. This could get very dangerous very quickly. He steps between them both and he sends Lily a hard look before turning to Charlotte.

“I’ve said all that I intend to,” he tells her and he sees the expression of utter frustration in her eyes before she spins around storms out. He looks back at Lily.

“She’s jealous and jealousy can make you say and do some extreme things. She could be extremely malleable if you’re clever,” Lily informs him and he frowns.

“I’m not interested in her.”

“Mitchell…” she chides and she smooths a hand across his chest as if soothing a recalcitrant child. She looks up at him.

“Your brand of charm is particularly lethal; I’ve seen you use it when you have to and it gets you what you want, when you want it. We don’t want Mrs Blythe-Pearson to be too angry with us now do we?” She stands on tiptoe and presses a gentle kiss on his mouth.

“It’ll be all sorts of fun darling,” she whispers. His eyes slide closed when he feels her hand slide south.

* * *

 

Everyone is busy preparing for the party. No one gives him a first look never mind a second one. He watches people hustle and bustle about making sure that the grand ball room is ready and looking spectacular for the event. He thinks about the little get-together of the previous night held in the living room. It looks as though tonight’s event will be much bigger, much grander.

It’s warm outside and he squints up at the cloudless blue sky and he feels the heat of the sun scratch at his sensitive skin. His sunglasses are in his room, in his luggage somewhere but he can’t be bothered to go and look for them. He steps out onto the patio and he pauses. The gardens stretch out for as far as the eye can see, immaculate and inviting. There are lots of hiding places, places to explore and get lost in. He remembers his earlier conversation with Alice. There are a lot of trees to climb and to fall out of. He briefly contemplates going to find her and maybe investigating for themselves but then he remembers Lily’s warning about charm and he sighs quietly. He doesn’t want to charm Charlotte; he doesn’t want the woman anywhere near him. Herrick seems to be able to do charm easier and more effortlessly. He just wants to have a good time, eat, make merry and get the hell out of there.

He hears laughter and he turns his head. He recognises Alice, in her pristine white dress and shiny black shoes. She has a ribbon in her pale gold hair and she does look like one of those dolls you can buy in one of those upmarket toy shops in Bristol. She’s in the company of her nanny and behind her another nursery maid is pushing a huge perambulator containing the baby Lily was cuddling the previous evening. A younger boy clad in a sailor suit of a kind walks sedately beside his sister. He watches Alice turn her head and wave at him. He lifts a hand and waves back.

* * *

 

He dresses for the ball. There’s a mask on the dressing table. It reminds him a little of the sleep mask that Lily had been wearing earlier except this is made of sturdier material. It is black and white with gold edging with a droplet of red by the left eye, a bloody teardrop.

He can hear music playing downstairs as the band begins. He sighs in discontent. The longing for pints in a dark little anonymous pub somewhere far away from this place rises inside of him. There’s a tap on his bedroom door. He goes to open it. He stills when he sees her on the threshold.

She’s wearing a long white gown edged with gold. She seems to be wearing a contraption on her back that resembles angel wings and her mask is the same white and gold. She lowers it and she stares at him.

“Charlotte,” he sighs.

“Please, I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m here to apologise and I hope that you can forgive my outrageous behaviour earlier today. I had no right and I can’t believe I did what I did. I’d like us to be able to start again, as friends.” Her expression is hopeful and he stares at her for a long moment.

“As friends,” he replies and she smiles with relief.

“Thank you. Are you ready to go? Would you escort me downstairs?” she asks. Mitchell turns his head and looks again at the mask on the dressing table. He picks it up and his gaze falls on the bloody teardrop. He remembers what Lily said about his brand of charm. He picks it up and he looks at her. His smile is cold.

“Of course,” he responds.


	7. Chapter Seven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The masked ball...

**Chapter Seven:**

_“I remember that night… so clearly,” Alice breathes. He looks down at her. Her skin is lined with the wrinkles and creases of old age, her thin hair is wispy and pure white in colour. In truth he is almost thirty years her senior, technically he is old enough to be her father but in reality he looks young enough to be her grandson. He looks exactly the same except that his hair is longer now and he doesn’t shave nearly as much as he used to. His eyes are the same, his voice too. The women love his accent still and it’s his voice that Alice remembers._

_“You should’ve listened to your mother and stayed in bed,” he whispers back and she turns her head in his direction again._

_“Why are you… here?”_

_“I heard that you were unwell.”_

_“Did they tell you… to kill me, is… that it?”_

_He leans over and with his other hand, he smooths her forehead. “Why would they want to do that now?” he all but croons._

_“Because of the… book, because of …what I wrote.”_

_“If they wanted you dead darlin’ then they would’ve done it a long time ago. They weren’t bothered by the book, after all it’s just a piece of fiction, a fairy tale.”_

_“You and …I know…that it isn’t.”_

_“You were a child Alice; you don’t know what you saw. So who do the public believe, or more to the point, who do they want to believe Alice? It’s for the best that the real world stay ignorant to what haunts the shadows.”_

_“It’s the…truth, every word of it.”_

_“You called them black eyed devils, a very interesting choice of words there.”_

_“Your eyes were …black, pure fathomless black…pits,” she whispers back._

_“You weren’t supposed to see that, you were supposed to be in bed,” he reminds her._

_“I wanted to see…the party.”_

* * *

 

He holds out his arm and she slides hers through, her hand resting on the crook of his elbow.

“Shouldn’t your husband be doing this?” he asks as they begin to walk. She glances at him.

“He’s downstairs, playing the convivial host.” She doesn’t hide the disgust in her voice.

“Won’t people talk if they see us come down the stairs together?” he asks curiously. He sees her smile, how it makes those eyes of hers sparkle.

“Quite frankly, I don’t care.” She squeezes his arm slightly and after a moment he looks away. They pause at the top of the staircase. There are people milling around, most of them in costume, masks hiding their identities. Something catches the corner of Mitchell’s eye and as he turns his head, his eyes widen.

There are photographers milling around with the guests.

His stomach plunges to his boots as he realisations the implications. He can’t be photographed; he physically will not show up on any photograph that is taken. He glances nervously at Charlotte. She seems serene almost. She’s taking in her surroundings and hasn’t noticed his change in expression just yet. He takes a breath. He makes a show of patting down his pockets. Charlotte turns and gives him a questioning look.

“I’ve forgotten…I need to go back…” He points behind him. He turns but she grabs his forearm.

“I can wait if you like,” she offers but he shakes his head.

“Go down without me, I’ll be with you shortly, I’m sure there are plenty of other people willing to escort you down.” He flashes what he hopes is a confident smile. He then turns and strides back the way he has come. It briefly crosses his mind that Charlotte requesting  that he escort her down the stairs was more to do with showing her husband what she is capable of more than anything else. What was good for the goose and all of that…

He encounters Lily approaching him and she frowns at his expression.

“Mitchell?” He pauses.

“There are photographers at the bottom of the staircase,” he informs her in a low voice and he watches how her eyes widen.

“Oh no, does Herrick know?” Mitchell just shrugs.

“I’m sure he does. Come on, I know another way down.” She slips her hand into his and they head for the back stairs, hidden away and predominantly used by staff.

* * *

 

The amount of people present in the house makes Mitchell nervous. He’s assaulted by an orchestra of heartbeats, pulses beating and blood flowing beneath pale privileged skin. He hates having to wear the stupid mask but Lily insists that it has to be done. He glances at her. She looks stunning in a gown of diaphanous silver material that catches the light and shimmers and sparkles a little. She attracts attention and he has a feeling that it’s deliberate.

He sees Charlotte. She’s standing beside her husband and together they’re greeting their guests. He watches her for a moment and he sees how she socialises and smiles. He remembers her sprawled across his bed the previous night, lost in the throes of passion and despite himself, he feels his body begin to react. He takes a slow, deep breath. He needs a drink, alcohol or blood, he doesn’t care which.

The doors to the ballroom are thrown open and there’s a sharp intake of breath as the guests see the interior for the first time. Mitchell walks with Lily into the cavernous room and his eyes take in the decoration. It’s all very…gothic with filmy long curtains of black and red at the windows. A stage area has been set up with a band. They’re dressed in tuxedos and their faces have been painted a ghoulish white with black circles around their eyes. Mitchell and Lily exchange one long slow look. Slowly they turn and they see lit candles, some solitary, others nestled within spectacular looking candelabras dotted around giving the whole room a subdued, spectral air.

“This is a disaster waiting to happen,” Mitchell mutters. Beside him Lily giggles.

“Only if you want to be darling. You have to admit, it’s all very…”

“Clichéd?” She looks up at him and she smiles.

“But this lot seem to be lapping it up,” she continues with a tilt of her head. Mitchell looks around at the guests present. They all seem to be very impressed with what they’re seeing.

* * *

 

 “Do you know, it took me a little while but I think I’ve got it all figured out.” Mitchell turns his head when he hears Herrick’s voice and he watches his sire come to stand beside him. He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t ask him what he’s talking about. Instead he takes a mouthful of champagne and he waits.

“Why you were so insistent on leaving here earlier, why you were almost outrageously rude to Charlotte Blythe-Pearson to her very face. It took me a while but I got there.” He turns slightly and looks at him and his smile is very slight but there’s a smidgen of admiration glimmering in them.

“She’s made a beeline for you from the moment you stepped over their threshold. Oh it was subtle to begin with but today it was, in hindsight, blindingly obvious. She’s very, very… _sweet_ on you young man.” His voice is low despite the music being played.

“She’s a married woman.”

“Her husband is an out and out rake by all accounts, with mistresses in both London and Bristol apparently. You need to be careful. He may have mistresses but it doesn’t mean that he will allow her to take a lover, _any_ lover.” He pauses and takes an almost delicate sip of his own drink. “She’s looking for a bit of fun for herself and seemingly she has chosen you to provide the entertainment. Be careful,” he warns. Mitchell widens his eyes slightly.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” he informs him.

“Do you? John, this has Lily’s fingerprints all over it. You forget that I know her, I know how she operates so when I say be careful, believe me, _be careful._ ” He fades away amidst the other guests and Mitchell turns his attention to the dance floor and he sees Lily across the way. She’s a vision of irresistible loveliness and there’s more than one pair of eyes on her. He sees how she throws her head back and laughs, exposing the length of her pure white throat and her male attendees are utterly transfixed by her. He takes another sip of his drink and he frowns darkly.

* * *

 

Charlotte turns from her conversation and the breath catches in her throat when she sees John striding towards her. Even with the mask covering the upper half of his face, she can see that it’s him. He looks magnificent. She waits as he stops in front of her.

“Would you like this dance?” he asks, holding out a hand and his change in demeanour has her head spinning. She turns her head as the band strike up a waltz. She smiles graciously and she takes his hand and she allows him to lead her onto the already busy dance floor.

He’s very accomplished and this surprises her. The previous evening he’d been distracted and barely civilized but now he’s attentive and he moves her around the dance floor with ease. There is no awkwardness, he’s graceful and she doesn’t have to worry about having her toes stepped upon.

“I wanted to apologise…about earlier…” Mitchell begins and she looks up at him. She waits.

“I have a tendency…I think the term is, to blow hot and cold. I didn’t mean to…upset you in the library or…later, I tend to…react first and think later.” He hates apologising; he’s never any good at it.

“It’s all forgotten John, let’s not bring it up again,” she reassures him and his smile is fleeting. He tightens his hold on her.

“I’m glad,” he admits.

 

One dance turns into another. He knows that they’re attracting attention, creating speculation. He looks into Charlotte’s blue eyes and he sees how they sparkle and he knows that it’s his brand of charm that has put it there. He bends her over his arm and smiles into her eyes and then brings her upright and she twirls beneath his arm in a swirl of gold and white. She laughs as the music draws to a close and Mitchell escorts her off the dance floor.

“How about I get us a drink?” he suggests and she just nods. Her hand lifts to gently cup his cheek. He briefly stills then takes a breath and goes to search for champagne.

* * *

 

“I hope he’s worth the gossip my darling.” Charlotte turns her head and she glares at Hugh who has materialised beside her. She straightens very slightly and looks away.

“And what gossip would that be _darling_?” she answers coldly. She watches the band start up again and she sees their guests flood onto the dance floor again. She forces herself to smile even though it’s the furthest thing from her mind right now. Her eyes search John out but he seems to have disappeared. She hopes that he doesn’t take too long with the champagne. Hugh sends her a level look.

“I see how you look at him Charlotte, like you want to devour him, it’s embarrassing,” Hugh hisses and she looks at him again. Her eyes are like chips of ice.

“And how do you know that I haven’t done so already?” she retorts and his eyes widen and she sees anger flare. She smiles derisively this time.

“You’re not the only one who can have _fun_ Hugh.” She watches his face turn an interesting shade of puce. He lifts his hand and she braces herself for what will surely follow but it stops mid movement. Hugh turns his head, his eyes widening in alarm. He gasps when he sees who it is.

“If there’s one thing that I can’t stand, it’s a man striking a woman for no good reason.” Mitchell keeps his voice low but the intent is clear is in his eyes by the way he is glaring at him.

“You have some nerve Mr Mitchell,” Hugh hisses in outrage. Mitchell applies subtle pressure to Hugh’s wrist.

“What is the matter with you, don’t you like a woman with a bit of spirit?”

“Is there a problem here?” Mitchell turns his head when he hears Herrick’s voice, like pouring oil on troubled waters, he’s there to ease any discomfort and Mitchell slowly lets go of Hugh’s wrist. The look he sends to both Hugh and Charlotte is dark and as he turns, he tears off his mask and walks away. The look Herrick sends Hugh is apologetic.

* * *

 

Mitchell retreats to the peace and quiet of the library. He can still hear the band playing merrily away in the distance.

He lowers himself down onto a leather sofa and he broods. The strength of his reaction to Hugh’s raised hand has surprised him but it is a genuine one. He’s a vampire, he has done or been a part of some truly horrific events but seeing the look in Charlotte’s eyes as his hand had come up unleashed something else inside of Mitchell. He used to hate any kind of violence against anyone weaker or more vulnerable and before his recruitment he witnessed a few. Now he shouldn’t really care but Hugh’s reaction has pushed buttons that he had previously thought long concealed. It’s made him angry. He glowers at the mask lying loosely between his fingers. He drops it down onto the low table in front of him and he sits back in his seat and he sighs. He scrubs his hands over his face and briefly closes his eyes. This place is too much for him, the people present are too much for him. The urge to leave and to hell with the consequences rises sharply inside of him.

His eyes pop open again when he hears the door open. He lifts his head slightly when he sees Charlotte standing in the entrance.

“Oh there you are. I thought you’d left,” she breathes and enters the room. He watches her close the door behind him. He stands up as she strides towards him, her gown floating around her. She’s discarded her mask and the angel wings are also gone.

“Are you alright?” she enquires as she stops in front of him and he frowns at her.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” he replies.

“Because I thought you were going to strike Hugh before,” she answers, her eyes widening in surprise.

“He had no right to do that to you,” he mutters, feeling the anger briefly burn inside of him.

“I provoked him,” she admits and he shakes his head slightly.

“That’s no excuse.” He takes a deep breath and makes a conscious effort to shake himself out of his dark thoughts.  “What are you doing here? Won’t your husband come looking for you?”

“I don’t care,” she replies.  He watches her move closer to him.

“You should. He’s your husband, you told me yesterday that he pays your bills, he takes care of you and your children.”

“Because I choose to look the other way to his affairs.”

“But he doesn’t like the thought of another man paying attention to you” It’s Charlotte’s turn to frown mildly.

“Apparently not.”

“It’s a pride thing; no man likes being made a fool of in public.”

“He’s made no secret of not caring about me John,  As I’ve said before, I’ve secured his family line, his future is safe so now he’s free to whore his way around London and Bristol and I’m supposed to just moulder away in this dump and let him.”  Mitchell regards her and then he leans a little closer to her.

“It sounds like you care more than you admit,” he whispers and he watches her eyes widen in horror.

“I don’t. I truly don’t,” she breathes. Her eyes scan his face. She seems to be contemplating her next move. He takes a breath.

“I’m going to be gone tomorrow and you’ll never see me again. I’m not worth the trouble,” he murmurs. Her eyes scan his face and her hand comes up to touch his cheek, her thumb tracing beneath his eye. She stands on tiptoe and she presses a kiss on his mouth and draws back to look into his eyes again.

“Don’t do that,” he whispers. He watches how she tilts her head to one side and there’s a strange little smile on her face.

“Why not?” she enquires. Slowly his hands reach out to gently grasp her upper arms.

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with do you?” She smiles mysteriously.

“Why don’t you tell me?” she suggests and he pauses. Then he slowly smiles.

“I have a better idea, if you’re game,” he whispers. His eyes gleam with promise. “I’ll show you.”

 


	8. Chapter Eight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitchell is a very bad boy. Warnings for scenes of an adult nature.

**Chapter Eight.**

He sees how her eyes light up with interest.

“Show me?”

Mitchell smiles at her, a slow, dangerous parody. “Yes. Show you but not here. Is there somewhere we can go?” He looks down at her exposed pale skin, the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. His gaze holds on it for a long few seconds before it flicks back to her face. “Your husband is an idiot,” he whispers. He pulls her towards him and crushes her mouth in a deep kiss that has her clinging dizzily to his lapels. Her expression is decidedly dazed and she blinks up at him.

“I know where we can go, but we need to be careful,” she admits. He regards her and slowly he nods.

“Then let’s go.” His expression becomes earnest and she smiles up at him.

* * *

 

He waits as she opens the library door and peers out. He watches her look both ways before turning her head and looking at him.

“All clear. Follow me,” she whispers. She reaches for his hand and he lets her wrap her fingers around his.

He follows her through a maze of behind the scene staircases and doorways. It’s like another world. He sees people, staff but they don’t look at him, they don’t even acknowledge Charlotte’s presence. It’s none of their business he realises and he smiles to himself.  

The party seems further away as they stop outside of a partially opened door. It takes Mitchell a moment to realise that they’re outside of her bedroom and he remembers Lily being inside the night before, pilfering Charlotte’s expensive jewellery. Before he knows it, Charlotte is pulling him into her room and she closes the door behind them. She pushes him up against the door and she smiles provocatively up at him.

“Will anybody miss you?” Mitchell asks her as she begins to help him out of his clothes. She shook her head.

“Hugh thinks I’m sulking.”

“If he notices that I’m missing too then he’ll know.”

“No he won’t, your lady friend was all too willing to keep him occupied.” She reaches for him, pulling his head down to her mouth and silence reigns for the next few moments. It takes him a moment to realise that she means Lily. He lifts his head and his hands rest on her shoulders for a brief second before his fingers curl around the thin shoulder straps. He yanks and there is the sound of tearing material. Charlotte’s eyes go wide and she gasps. Mitchell can’t help himself; he chuckles, his eyes dancing with delight as the ruined gown floats to the floor leaving her standing in a filmy silk chemise and tap pants. She’s wearing gossamer thin stockings and delicate looking white and gold slippers. She looks at the dress puddled at her feet briefly and she smiles. She reaches for him again.

* * *

 

He lets her take control this time and she leads him to her bed. He sits down on the edge and he looks at her. He opens his legs and allows her to stand in between them and he looks up at her. He sees the brief look of confusion on her face.

“This is your party Charlotte,” he reminds her in a low voice and he watches understanding dawn and the slow smile that follows. She touches his face, cradling it between the palms of her hands. She feels his hands touch her waist, his thumbs pressing into the curve of her hips. They slide upwards and he leans forwards and he presses his face into the space between her breasts. He places a kiss there and he inhales the scent of her; her perfume, her femininity and it fuels the darkness inside of him that’s just beneath the surface. The urge to possess her in the most final way threatens to swamp him. It makes his head swim, it makes him go hard. He struggles against it. Her arms slip around him, holding him close to her body and he can hear her heartbeat thundering perilously close to his ear, in tune with her pulse and her bloodstream.

“Charlotte…please…” he whispers thickly and he closes his eyes. He feels her hands on his chest and this time she’s the one that’s pushing him backwards. She slips out of the rest of her clothes and she possesses him. The sensation of it makes him groan quietly.

He grabs at her hips and he looks up at her face. She’s utterly lost in the sensations that she’s experiencing but he can see them all plainly. He feels the edge sharpening and he closes his eyes. He can feel blackness, invading and overpowering. He still struggles valiantly to control what it is that’s inside of him.

He can hear her above the roaring. He can feel how she tightens around him, how she goes still and then she’s flying and moaning his name.

His release rushes through him, he digs his fingers into her skin and he tenses.

She’s warm and her skin is sticky. She lies down on top of him and automatically he wraps his arms around her and he allows the contact for a moment or two. She lifts her head and she looks into his eyes.

“You said that you’re leaving tomorrow,” she whispers. He frowns at her.

“And I am” he confirms. She pushes a lock of his hair off his forehead, using the tip of her finger to trace the skin just above his eyebrows.

“Take me with you John,” she begs.

“What?” he exclaims. Charlotte moves off him.

“I could come with you. Please say yes.”

For a moment his mind goes utterly blank.

“What for?” he exclaims and then pauses. “Charlotte, you’re not thinking straight. You have a husband, you have children, how could you possibly wish to throw that all away for someone like me?” he asks, sitting up. He regards her with a mixture of horror and fascination. “You just met me for the first time yesterday; you have no idea of who I am or _what_ I am.”

“So you’re refusing me?”

“It’s insanity. You have a life here, a perfectly good life,” he reminds her. She frowns and he sees the shine of tears in her eyes.

“It’s her isn’t it? _Lily,_ ” she all but spits the name out.

“She’s a part of it yes,” he admits. He watches her slide off the bed and pick up a silk robe that has been left on the dressing table chair. She slips it on and belts it tightly around her thin waist.

“She’s a slut, she has different men chasing after her, including my husband and she’s doing nothing to deter them.”

“And you’re here with me,” he reminds her. She strides towards him. She pauses by the bed again.

“I saw you last night.”

“So you’ve already said.” He watches her. That niggling feeling that he’s been fighting on and off with all weekend returns full force.

“That wasn’t all that I saw. I saw what you did to Robert, I saw the blood on your face and I saw your _eyes_. I know what you are John, I know what you _all_ are.” For a moment his eyes widen before he grabs for his self-control.

“What do you think _we_ are then Charlotte?” he enquires. He watches her smile.

“Do you really want me to spell it out for you? I’ve always known. I had my suspicions about Mr Herrick at that earlier soiree we’d met at but then when I saw you and _her_ and your other…companions, I knew for sure.” Mitchell moves to the edge of the bed, his eyes hunting out his clothes. He needs to get out of here immediately.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” he informs her, reaching for his underwear and pulling it on. He stands up.

“You know that I haven’t. I know what you are and it’s fine because I want you to change me too. I want you to make me into a vampire.”

* * *

 

Mitchell freezes. Alarm bells are clanging loudly inside of his head and he frowns at her. “What are you talking about? Vampires? there’s no such thing except in story books!” he scoffs. He tries to laugh but it comes out sounding false and forced. He needs to escape, he needs to warn Herrick.

“You don’t have a reflection John, I saw for myself.” She tilts her head towards her dressing table mirror which is at the bottom of her bed, affording a view of the entire bed. Slowly he turns his head and looks. He should be in that reflection, but he’s not. He swallows against threatening nausea and panic.

“It’s alright. I’m not afraid,” she assures him calmly. She walks towards him.

“ _Why_?” he hisses.

“Why what?”

“Why would you want to be like me?” he demands.

“I need to escape from here John, I want to see the world, be free of responsibilities, be eternal.”

“And what about the rest of it? It isn’t just about living a very long life. There’s blood lust, there’s the urge to kill, there’s the loss of humanity. Are you willing to sacrifice what you have now for something that will haunt you for eternity?”

“It must be better than what waits for me day in and day out in this place John. The children are raised by nannies, then they’ll be put into the safe hands of governesses and tutors and I won’t matter to them, I’ll be just another face to them. Hugh doesn’t care about me and quite frankly if you turn me into one of your kind then he’ll be first on my list to…” She squeaks when he grabs her roughly by her shoulders.

“Have you listened to yourself? You’re _insane_ , truly out of your mind.” He shakes her. He abruptly releases her and she staggers.

“I thought you’d be eager to do it.” She sounds surprised and it just makes him angrier.

“You’ve lived your entire life in the lap of luxury Charlotte; you’ve never had to want for anything have you? You’ve never known what it feels like to struggle, to survive against overwhelming odds, to feel your stomach feel like it’s turning inside out with hunger, to worry whether the next round of influenza will be the one to carry you off or whether you’ll be really unlucky and become consumptive and that’s a slower, more cruel death altogether.” His frown is dark, foreboding. “Live your life sweetheart, be bored but be thankful that you have one,” he snarls at her. He watches her expression darken.

“I saw what you did to Robert,” she reminds him.

“You don’t know what you saw,” he argues.

“You ripped out his throat and you drank from him!” she exclaims. Mitchell reaches for his shirt.

“So you say but who’s going to believe you? They’ll lock you up in a loony bin for sure if you go about spouting that rubbish.”

“I’ll make people believe me. I’ll _make_ the police believe me”, she retorts angrily.

“And how will you do that without coming across as a disturbed, hysterical woman?” he sneers.

“Because I saw where you put him,” she hisses back and Mitchell pauses.

“You’re bluffing.”

“Try me,” she goads

“It’ll cause a scandal, are you sure you want to put your family through all of that? The press will have a field day; you’ll be cast out as a lunatic and a whore.”

“Then I’ll have nothing to lose will I?” He hears the tone of finality in her voice and he swallows.  He sighs and briefly closes his eyes.

“Fine. Have it your way,” he sighs in defeat. He watches her expression change. Her eyes go wide with surprise.

“You’ll do it?” He regards her steadily and he nods, just the once.

“When?” she breathes, her eyes going wide. He hears how her heart flutters in her chest.

“There’s no time like the present sweetheart.”

“But the party…”

He holds out a hand. “It has to be now or not at all.”

She takes a tentative few steps towards him. “But I thought…”

“No it has to be now.” He watches as she stops in front of him. Her eyes are wide and her pulse is thudding noisily at the base of her throat. He stares at it for a moment as he collects his thoughts.

* * *

 

“What happens exactly?” she asks, her tone breathless. His gaze lifts and he stares into her eyes for a moment. He realises that she’s excited, that this is what she truly wants.

“There’ll be an exchange of blood. I’ll drain you to the point of death and then I’ll feed you some of my blood. After a while you’ll wake up and you’ll be…like me,” he murmurs.

“Will it hurt?” He wants to laugh at her. She’s blackmailing him into this and she’s asking whether it’ll hurt.

“Just briefly, turn around,” he instructs.

 He frowns as he turns her so that her back is up against his chest. He lets his eyes scorch black and he feels his fangs descend. He puts his right arm across her chest and he anchors her in place up against him. He feels her tremble against him.

He bites into the soft skin of her neck and her warm blood erupts into his mouth. His eyes close as that familiar feeling of lust kicks in and he tightens his grip around her, anchoring her to him. He hears her gasp and her initial struggle is expected but he’s too strong and now that he’s feeding, nothing can stop him. He hears her heart skip wildly in her breast, her breathing fast, her lungs heaving. He listens carefully and then finally he stops. She’s limp in his arms and he regards her dispassionately. She’s on the very verge of consciousness. Her eyelids are fluttering, struggling to open and he shakes her a little and watches them open a little bit wider.

“Oh good, I thought I’d gone a bit too far for a moment. One thing you need to know about me Charlotte, I’m a vampire and I kill without a thought or a care for anyone else.” He looks down at the blood streaming down the side of her neck to stain the front of her robe. “Your biggest mistake was to trust me, that the sex between us would actually mean something.” His voice lowers to a whisper and he sees her eyelids flutter, hears her quiet moan. “There’s nothing to stop me from doing to you what I did to Bennett now is there? I killed him remember.” With his free hand he traces a finger through the blood, down the line of her neck and up again. He slips his hand beneath her chin. His fingers caress the cool, soft skin.

“Because that’s what I’m going to do. Goodnight Charlotte, sweet dreams.”

He wrenches, suddenly, viciously and the loud crack of bone and the pop of ligaments and muscle sound satisfying to his ears. He smiles and releases her and she falls forwards onto the bed, her head at an unnatural angle. He wipes his face, his eyes still coal black. He stares at her for a moment and then straightens her up and covers her with the blankets, carefully tucking them around her. She looks like she’s sleeping.

A movement catches the corner of his eye and at the same time he hears it.

He hears a whimper and it’s coming from the dressing room.

 


	9. Chapter Nine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitchell confronts his witness and Herrick discovers what Mitchell did.

**Chapter Nine:**

He dresses hastily. Slowly, cautiously he walks towards the dressing room door and he listens intently. He can hear breathing, nervous ragged breathing and he frowns. He slowly opens the door.

He sees racks upon racks of clothing, more than any that he’s ever seen before. They’re colour co-ordinated and probably sorted into day and evening wear. He listens and he can hear a rapid heartbeat, fluttering fearfully. His eyes scan the long room. He looks down and he sees the tiny pink feet just poking out beneath the rows of gowns.

“Come out,” he instructs. He’s answered by silence. He sighs. “I can see your feet,” he adds and then he crouches down. He reaches out and fastens a hand around one skinny ankle. He hears her squeal and she kicks out at him. He flinches, dodging flailing limbs but he doesn’t let go of her. Slowly he drags her out and she’s lying wide-eyed on the floor.

“Alice,” he sighs. She doesn’t speak, just continues to stare up at him.

“What are you doing in here? You’re supposed to be in bed,” he sighs.

“You hurt my mummy!” she breathes and he frowns and swallows.

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did. I saw you, I saw…there was blood and your eyes went funny,” she accuses with wide scared eyes. He leans forwards and he glares at her.

“No I didn’t, you were mistaken. Your mother is sleeping now and she’ll be very cross with you when she finds out that you were in her room when you’re supposed to be in bed,” he retaliates. He reaches for her arm and he hauls her upright. She stares up at him with wide, terrified blue eyes.

“You’re going to go back to bed do you understand me? You didn’t see anything and if you say otherwise then you’ll be in a lot of trouble.” It’s then that he hears the sound of running feet. He turns his head and he frowns. He looks back at Alice.

“Come with me, I can imagine that that’s your nanny looking everywhere for you.” Before she can say another word, he lifts her into his arms and he carries her out of the dressing room, past the newly dead corpse of her mother and into the corridor. He closes the door behind him and he looks up and down. He pauses. He can smell smoke.

* * *

 

He frowns at the people running in both directions and he wonders what is going on. He strides quickly in the direction of the nursery, Alice still in his arms. She’s not fighting him anymore; she’s gone very quiet, her head resting against his shoulder. He gets to the bottom of the staircase that leads to the nursery wing and pauses when he sees who he assumes is the nanny appear. She’s pale, distressed and wide eyed. Slowly Mitchell lowers the child to the floor and he turns her so that she’s looking at him. Her expression is sombre.

“Remember. Not a word,” he warns her in a low voice. He straightens and strides away.

The smell of smoke is stronger now and he can see tendrils of smoke floating in the air. He can feel the heat in the air. He frowns and then pauses when he sees Lily appear. Her dress shines in the light.

“There you are!” she exclaims, hurrying towards him.

“What the hell is going on?” Mitchell demands. She grabs onto his hands.

“The ballroom is on fire. Some dimwit knocked over some of the candelabras and set those silly black and red curtains alight, its mayhem, people are rushing everywhere, getting knocked down and crushed.” Her eyes glitter.

“Shouldn’t we be leaving?” He watches her shake her head.

“Not without an important something first,” she tells him and he frowns in puzzlement. She smiles and hurries away, dragging him with her.

They arrive at her bedroom and she pulls him inside. It’s only now that she lets go of his hand as she crosses the room and he watches her drop onto her knees in front of a small bedside cabinet. He watches her pull something flat from underneath it. She opens it, looks down at it and smiles and drops it into her evening bag. She straightens and turns. She smiles at him.

“Now I’m ready to leave,” she informs him.

The smoke is thicker and it makes him cough.

“This way,” Lily whispers to him and they head for the back stairs.

* * *

 

Chaos reigns all around them. Members of the household staff are mixed up with the party guests as they all head for the nearest exits. Mitchell holds tightly onto Lily’s hand as they fight their way through and suddenly they’re out in the open air. He turns his head and looks at her. Her eyes are wide and all of a sudden she looks a little bit…afraid.

“We need to find Herrick, make sure that he’s alright,” he tells her and she nods.

“Where were you earlier?” Lily asks as they begin to walk. Mitchell glances at her.

“I was…busy,” he replies. Lily glances up at him as she slides an arm around his waist.

“Doing what?”

“Not now,” he hisses, looking around at the other people milling around. Lily also glances around but wisely chooses not to pursue the matter further.

* * *

 

They meet up with Herrick on the driveway in front of the house. He looks dishevelled and worried. Mitchell watches him curiously. He’s always been in control; he’s never seen Herrick other than in complete control of himself and his surroundings. He sees how his eyes skip over the faces of the people milling around. He also sees Seth and Marco with him and he vaguely wonders where they came from. Herrick spies them and his look of relief is brief and fleeting as he strides towards them.

“There you are,” he breathes. He takes in Mitchell’s state of dress, his half buttoned shirt and the fact that his bow tie is missing.

“Where have you been?” he enquires “and where is Charlotte?”  He turns his head and his eyes glance over the other party guests again.

“She’s not a problem. Why?” Mitchell responds flippantly and Herrick frowns.

“What have you done?” he demands, his voice dropping several degrees.

“I’m not getting into this now, not here,” Mitchell retorts and Herrick’s eyes narrow. He grabs his sleeve and hauls him away from prying eyes and ears.

“We are most certainly getting into this now young man!” he hisses. Mitchell yanks his arm free.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking half-wit, I’m not Seth!” he retorts crossly.

“Careful,” Herrick warns him and Mitchell glares at him, ignoring Seth’s brief howl of protest.

“You were gone for quite a while earlier, where did you get to?”

Mitchell looks away. “I was with Charlotte,” he admits. Herrick rolls his eyes theatrically.

“I had guessed that part already, Lily here was with her husband!” he retorts sharply and Mitchell glances at her over his shoulder. Mitchell turns his head and he stares at his sire.

“She knew about us, what we are, she threatened to go public with her information.”

 Herrick's eyes narrow. “Unless you did what exactly?” he demands in a low voice.

“She wanted me to recruit her,” he mutters and Herrick frowns.

“I see. And did you?” Mitchell shakes his head, a quick, rapid movement.

“Well that’s a relief!” he breathes.  Mitchell frowns.

“She knew what happened last night, with Bennett, she saw _everything._ ” He watches Lily come to stand in front of him beside Herrick and her eyes are wide but she doesn’t look afraid.

“She can’t prove any of it,” she breathes.

“She said she knew where we hid him and that she’d tell the police, make them believe her,” Mitchell continues. This time Lily’s eyes go wide for another reason completely.

“She can’t have,” she breathes.

“She said that she did, I told you that if she saw us earlier, then she probably saw all of what we did…and I wasn’t about to risk her talking to the wrong people,” he answers. He looks back at Herrick.

“You killed her didn’t you?” Herrick’s voice is still low but this time laced with anger.

“It was the only way,” Mitchell defends. Herrick doesn’t answer immediately. He takes a deep breath and Lily sees how his hands clench into fists.

His reaction is swift and it is brutal. His fist hooks Mitchell across his face. It catches the younger vampire completely by surprise and succeeds in knocking him to the ground. For a moment Mitchell is utterly paralysed as pain bounces around inside of his skull and he literally sees stars in front of his eyes.

“You utter, utter _fool_!” Herrick hisses standing over him. Mitchell lifts his head and he looks up at him and he sees the rage glittering in his eyes.

“She was going to _talk_!” he retaliates, his hand coming up to cover the side of his face.

“You do _not_ make decisions like that without consulting me first!”

“She didn’t give me much of a chance, if I had said no to her then she would’ve run downstairs screaming and the gig would have been up for us all!” Mitchell scrambles to his feet. He can taste blood in his mouth. He spits it out.

“What the hell was that for?!” he demands angrily.

“As usual you react before you think, people are going to notice that she’s missing, she’s the hostess, they’ll realise what has happened. She could’ve been useful in the long term but you’ve ruined all of that!” Herrick hisses back at him. Mitchell glares at him.

“You wouldn’t have recruited her; you’re particular who you bring on board. If I hadn’t dealt with her, you would have,” he retaliates.

“You don’t know that! She was a very wealthy young lady, bored and stupidly enamoured with you but she would’ve had her uses somewhere, somehow. I should stake you myself you _fucking_ idiot!” Herrick snarls.

“Just try it old man and we’ll see what happens” Mitchell growls and Herrick lunges at him. He grabs him by the front of his shirt and squeezes.

“Never _ever_ forget who created you. I brought you into my world soldier, I can just as easily take you out of it.” His eyes scorch black for a moment before he releases him. He takes a step back. He closes his eyes and he slowly inhales. When his eyes open again, he’s in control once more. He straightens his jacket and shirt cuffs, his movements quick and economical. His eyes then take in the unfolding scenario. Huge orange flames are poking through the ballroom windows and are climbing steadily and greedily upwards. The heat is intense; they can feel the blast of it from where they stand. It’ll engulf the entire wing of the house.

“Where is she?” he asks in a low voice.

“In her room,” Mitchell mutters.

“The fire will take care of her William” Lily soothes and Herrick shoots her a dark look before returning his attention to Mitchell.

“For your sake young man, it had better,” he mutters and stalks away. Lily and Mitchell exchange a long look before following.

“Sounds like you were the fucking half-wit Mitchell, was she worth it?” Seth hisses and Mitchell’s reaction is instinctive. He turns on Seth, his eyes scorching, his fangs erupting and he grabs him by his throat and lifts him. Marco grabs his arm and hauls him back and Seth sways on his feet, gasping for breath.

“Enough!” Herrick seethes, flashing his protégé a deadly look.

Herrick doesn’t speak and they know better than to question him. His stride is quick, his demeanour stiff and cold. There are people rushing in every direction, emanating panic and fear. Mitchell keeps his head down. He finds it overwhelming and it’s making him dizzy.

By the time help arrives, half of the large house is overwhelmed by the conflagration. No one notices the cars travelling in the opposite direction.

* * *

 

The trip back to Bristol is conducted in complete silence. Mitchell sits in the back with Lily on one side and Marco on the other. Seth is up front beside Herrick and seems to be taking great satisfaction from his impromptu promotion.

He doesn’t know how he feels. He stands in the centre of his room and takes in the furnishings. His clothes reek of smoke and slowly he begins to undress. He wants to sleep; he wants to forget all about Charlotte Blythe-Pearson, her lifestyle, her husband and everything else. He’s pissed off and his cheekbone still throbs. He presses a couple of fingers against it and frowns at the ache. There’ll be a bruise there to show for it. He’s lucky he didn’t lose a tooth; Herrick has a vicious right hook.

There’s a brief knock on his door and as he turns his head, it’s on the tip of his tongue to tell whoever it is on the other side to sling their hook. As he opens his mouth, the door opens and his mouth closes when he sees Lily.

“What do you want?” he demands as he watches her walk towards him. She stops in front of him and she tilts her head to one side. She lifts a hand and places it against his cheekbone and she pouts very slightly.

“Poor baby,” she commiserates and he pulls his head away and frowns at her instead.

“William shouldn’t have struck you like that, in front of the others. You were right, you didn’t have time to react, I would’ve done exactly the same thing.” She keeps her voice low. His frown doesn’t dissipate.

“Would you?”

She nods, not once breaking eye contact. “Yes darling, I would have. You told me that there was something about her that didn’t settle with you and I should have listened to you, Herrick should have listened to you.” Mitchell takes a step away from her and peels his shirt from his shoulders.

“Thanks for telling me, now I really want to get some sleep.” His dismissal is cold. His feelings are still hurt. She narrows the gap between them and puts her hand on his chest. He turns his head and looks at her again.

“Would you like some company?” she enquires softly. Her hand slides downwards and across his stomach. He looks at it and then back at her.

“I want to sleep,” he informs her, his tone needle sharp.

“I’ll let you sleep my darling, all in good time.” She reaches behind her and she removes the pins that keep her hairstyle in place. Silently Mitchell watches as it tumbles down over her shoulders and over her breasts. It catches the light and shines as she shakes her head to loosen it some more. It’s a thick, curtain of chocolate brown silk and of his own volition he touches it between thumb and index finger. It feels like silk too.

She takes a step towards him and she slips her arms around his neck. She presses her body up against his as her mouth claims his. He doesn’t resist, he doesn’t push her away as she was expecting him to do. She’s learning to gauge his moods; he can be mercurial and she has to interpret and react accordingly. She’s read him well this time as she feels how his body answers to her. She fights back a triumphant smile. Men, human or vampire, they’re all the same.

* * *

 

It’s later and she’s finally allowing him to sleep. She slips out of bed and for a moment she just regards him. A slight smile tilts the corners of her lips but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She picks up his shirt and she slips it on. It engulfs her and falls to mid-thigh. She lifts her arm and sniffs at the sleeve. She can smell smoke from the fire earlier and the male scent of him. It makes the pit of her stomach quiver just a little bit. Outside, it’s beginning to get light. She turns and looks.  She can hear the cheerful trill of birdsong and the signs of human life outside. She turns from the window and she looks at him again. He looks peaceful, his brow unfurrowed by burden. He doesn’t worry about what he did to Charlotte and she wants to utilise that.

He’s special but he’s bound by his loyalty to Herrick.

She needs to loosen the apron strings a little bit.


	10. Chapter Ten.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitchell has his first encounter with the Old Ones.

**Chapter Ten:**

When he wakes up he is alone. He sharply turns his head but she’s nowhere to be seen and instead he glowers up at the ceiling. He turns his head again when his bedroom door opens. He sees Lily enter and he allows himself a soft, almost relieved smile of recognition. Her hair is still loose and he realises that it falls to her waist. She’s carrying two cups. He sits up and takes the one that she offers him and she climbs back into bed beside him.

“Good, you’re finally awake, I thought you were going to sleep the day away,” she comments as she takes a sip from her own cup.

“Why, what time is it?”

“Not sure, but I do know that it’s after ten.” She watches how his eyes go wide.

“After _ten_ , shit, I should’ve been up two hours ago, Herrick is going to kill me!” He kicks back the blankets and scrambles out of bed. She watches him put his cup on the bedside table and how he hurries around his room, completely naked and unbothered by it, scrabbling for clean clothes.

“Herrick has already left,” she informs him and he pauses and looks at her. He frowns.

“He did? When?” There’s no disguising the hurt tone in his voice.

“A couple of hours ago, I offered to wake you but he said not to bother.”

Mitchell’s mouth drops open slightly. “He left? Without me?” His eyes widen in disbelief and he turns. Lily shrugs prettily. She watches his shoulders slump. “He never goes anywhere without me.” His eyes are distinctly sad as he returns to his bed. He pulls the sheets up to his waist and reaches for his cup again. He takes a sip.

“Who did he leave with?”

“Seth.” She sees how he rolls his eyes at that revelation. He takes another mouthful of tea.

“Well you did upset him last night and he’s like a parent sometimes, he feels like he has to punish his children if they do something he’s not happy with,” she quietly reminds him. His answering look is dark.

“Oh darling, you’re young and I take it this is the first time you’ve done something like this without his knowledge or approval. He’ll come around eventually I’m sure.”

“So what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” he demands. She smiles at him and relieves him of his cup and she places it beside her own on the cabinet beside his bed. She turns her head back his way and her expression is positively devilish.

“Oh I’m sure I can think of something.” She puts her hand square in the centre of his chest and nudges him back. Quick as a flash, she straddles his lap. His hands come up to gently grasp her waist. She looks into his eyes and she smiles.

* * *

 

“Where are we going to again?” he enquires. The look Lily sends him is irritated as they leave the house and head towards the taxi that’s waiting for them.

“I swear you don’t listen to a word that I say John, it’s just a friendly get together of some mutual friends across town.”

“Will Herrick be there?” She pauses by the taxi cab door and Mitchell reaches over to open it. He watches her climb inside before following.

“No, Herrick won’t be there,” she answers as they sit down and he frowns at her.

“Why not?”

“Because he wasn’t invited, that’s why,” she explains as the cab pulls away with a gentle purr.

The journey lasts barely ten minutes before the taxi pulls up outside of a townhouse similar to the one they’re currently occupying. Mitchell looks up at it through the window. He pays the driver and then exits. He holds open the door and helps Lily out. They stand on the pavement and watch the cab pull away. Lily looks at him as she turns and flashes him a smile, her irritation of earlier forgotten.

“I hope that you have fun tonight,” she whispers to him and she turns to the house. Mitchell turns his head and sees the couple who brush past them and climb the stairs to the shiny black front door. After a moment the door opens and the pair gain entrance. Mitchell and Lily follow and are granted entry.

A black suited butler is waiting for them and after a murmured greeting, helps Lily out of her thin evening coat. Mitchell takes in his surroundings with wide, curious eyes.

There are a lot of people present. He takes in their clothing, their jewellery and the glasses that they are carrying. His eyes widen when he recognises the contents. It’s blood. He looks back at Lily who looks up at him and she smiles, her eyes sparkling.

“Yes my darling,” she confirms with a slight inclination of her head. Her hand slides into his and he feels her squeeze it.

“Come along, let’s get you something to drink and I’ll introduce you to a few people,” she tells him.

* * *

 

He feels a little nervous as he takes in the room’s occupants. They’re all strangers to him but he can feel it. He knows what they are; every single one of them is a vampire and he doesn’t remember the last time he has seen so many in one place.

“Relax sweetie, there’s nothing to worry about,” she reminds him in a low, gentle voice. He looks at her again and she smiles encouragingly at him. He takes a breath and faces his audience.

Maybe he’s still smarting a little bit from Herrick’s rejection of earlier, maybe it’s because he’s somewhere new, he’s not sure but he’s watchful. He takes in all of the faces, watches their demeanour. There are a few of them present, different ages, height and colouring. They regard him with equal curiosity, he’s someone new to their midst. It should be daunting, to be observed by so many but with Lily beside him, it doesn’t feel like it.

“Drink sir, miss?” Mitchell turns his head when he hears the solicitous voice by his shoulder and he sees another black clad butler waiting, a silver tray balanced on one gloved hand. The tray contains two cut glasses and his senses flare when he recognises what they contain. His eyes flick up to his and away again as he picks up first one glass and then the other. He hands one of them to Lily and the butler melts away into the crowd.

As he takes a sip, he realises that the blood is still warm and his eyes flash black very briefly as the aroma of it winds its way around his heightened senses. It awakens his nascent senses but he blinks it away.

* * *

 

Herrick lets himself into the house. He’s annoyed and he’s irritated. A few hours in the company of Seth reminds him of why he prefers Mitchell by his side. Seth never stops talking, about anything and everything that comes into his line of vision and maybe some people welcome that kind of inane buzzing in their ear but he realises now that he much prefers Mitchell’s long silences. He’s not a great conversationalist but when he speaks, what he has to say is usually worth listening to, worth absorbing and contemplating. Intellectually they are also poles apart. He can’t even use Seth as any kind of muscle, oh he can look threatening when required but he doesn’t have the breadth of shoulder or body, just a beanpole thinness that only succeeds in making him look cadaverous. He supposes that he’s good for a scare if the situation calls for it.

Seth is still wittering away like an annoying child as they walk into the hallway. Herrick pauses and he listens. He doesn’t hear anything, apart from Seth that is. He heads for the stairs.

He taps just the once on Mitchell’s bedroom door and opens it. It’s empty and he stares at the unmade bed with a mild frown on his face. He’s always been so incredibly untidy; he doesn’t know how he can survive living in such a mess. He turns his head slightly and he sees the two abandoned cups on the bedside cabinet and all at once he understands.

* * *

 

Mitchell feels any remaining tension slowly leave him as the evening progresses. He’s in heady company and his eyes, his senses take it all in.

“You’re a new face,” someone with a deep, gravelly Scottish accent announces and slowly Mitchell turns. He looks at him, his dark eyes slightly narrowed. Beside him Lily chuckles.

“Edmund sweetheart, this is who I told you about, this is _John._ ” She lowers her voice slightly and Mitchell glances quizzically at her, wondering why her voice dipped like that. It sounds like she’s imparting some great secret and he frowns briefly before returning his attention to Edmund. He’s a tall, burly fellow with a shock of untidy silver hair.

“Ahh…Mr Mitchell, pleased to make your acquaintance.” He sticks out a hand and Mitchell has no choice but to accept it. His handshake is hearty and strong and he’s taken mildly by surprised by it. He’s used to the chilly little ritual that Herrick prefers.

“Like wise Mr…”

“McDermott…Edmund McDermott. Lily has been singing your praises to us for a wee while now.” The look he sends Lily is fond and Mitchell turns his head back in her direction again. Really? He’s curious as to find out for how long and how, their relationship is still relatively new. The other possibility is interesting and mildly… _disquieting_ he has to admit. He swallows it down.

“Really? She never said,” he says instead sending her a chiding look. Lily has the grace to blush.

“Well she has been. How is William keeping these days?” he enquires and Mitchell tilts his head slightly, wondering how he knows his sire. He imagines that it can be quite an insular world.

“As well as can be expected I suppose.” He takes another sip of his drink.

“Edmund, John isn’t here to talk about William,” she interrupts politely and Edmund looks a little bit embarrassed.

“Of course you’re not, sorry about that,” he apologises. Mitchell turns his head slightly when he feels Lily’s hand on his forearm.

“You’ll be alright by yourself for a little while won’t you?” she enquires quietly and he frowns but he nods all the same.

“Of course.”

“Won’t be long,” she whispers and Mitchell watches her slide away, going across the room, leaving him standing there in a drift of perfume. He watches her walk towards a tall, statuesque woman, who looks to be in her mid to late forties with short bobbed blonde hair that reminded him uncomfortably of Charlotte. He swallows against the memory. He watches the two women greet each other, sees the warm smile the woman bestows upon Lily before they embrace. There is very real affection between them.

“Who is that Lily is with?” he asks Edmund who turns to regard them.

“That’s Eleanor Brennan, a rather a special vampire,” Edmund answers, looking back at him.

“Special how?”

“Can’t you recognise?” Edmund sounds genuinely shocked and Mitchell tears his gaze away from the two women momentarily to look at him again.

“Recognise what?” Edmund sighs gustily and Mitchell frowns.

“You _are_ young aren’t you? Eleanor is an Old One, part of a group of very ancient, rather powerful vampires. There aren’t many of them left so when one appears, you take notice.” His eyes take on an excited gleam. “Tonight we’re especially honoured because _tonight_ we have _two_ of them present.” He lowers his voice conspiratorially and it piques Mitchell’s interest. Old Ones, why hasn’t he heard of such a group of vampires?  It’s something that he needs to ask Herrick about once he decides he’s talking to him again.

“Who’s the other one then?” he asks.

“He’s over there, by the window, the fellow in the grey suit? Edgar Wyndam.” He all but whispers his name. Mitchell turns his head and he sees the slender dark haired man standing with two other people and seemingly in deep conversation. He’s young and beyond pale, his skin is almost alabaster white in colour. His companions seem to be hanging onto his every word judging by the look of utter…worship he can see on their faces. He sees the man lift his head and look his way. There’s no curiosity on his face, no real expression at all and for a moment the two men stare at each other. Mitchell notices that Edgar Wyndam has the coldest blue eyes he’s ever seen, they’re almost cruel. He suppresses a shiver and returns his attention to Edmund.

* * *

 

“Hello Edmund, how very nice it is to see you again, how are you?” Mitchell turns his head when he hears his voice and he realises with a slight jolt that it’s Edgar Wyndam and he feels nerves tremble very briefly in the pit of his stomach. Is there a kind of hierarchy here? Is he supposed to bow and scrape to an Old One because that really isn’t his style.

“I’m very well Edgar, how are you?” Edmund responds and Mitchell hears the respect in his voice and he finds it curious. He turns his head and is perturbed to see Wyndam watching him.

“And you Mr Mitchell. John isn’t it? How are you finding things? Is everything to your satisfaction?” His keen gaze skips over his face and Mitchell gets the impression that he’s being scrutinized and perceived. He wonders whether he has passed muster.

“Everything seems to be fine,” he replies calmly. Wyndam’s answering smile is chilly, mechanical.

“Good, that’s what I like to hear. We haven’t been formally introduced, my name is Edgar Wyndam and if you’re very lucky then you won’t get to see me very often.” He holds out a hand and Mitchell takes it. The handshake is brief and perfunctory. He turns his head as a ripple seems to run through the guests. Mitchell does likewise.

Wyndam smiles coolly.

“Ah…the entertainment” he announces and all conversation ceases as two men make their way into the centre of the living room. Between them is a young girl. She doesn’t seem to be much older than seventeen or eighteen years of age. Mitchell hears her heartbeat rattling in her chest and his gaze sharpens. He can smell the human scent of her, her muskiness veiled in cheap floral perfume. He struggles to contain his true self as he watches her. Her eyes are wide with fear as she takes in the people around her. He has to wonder whether she knows what they are. She probably does judging by how violently she’s shaking.

She’s clad in only a white cotton slip. Her legs and her feet are bare. Mitchell’s eyes skim over her, taking in her pink and white skin, her big blue eyes. She has light blonde hair that tumbles haphazardly over her shoulders and generous breasts. His mouth begins to water.

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Florence.” Wyndam introduces, going over to stand beside the terrified girl. There’s a slight smile tilting his cruel mouth as his sharp eyes rake her over from top to bottom. Florence stares back at him. Her eyes are wide and there’s a scarf of some description tied around her mouth to drown out any screaming.

“Florence…these people are….well it doesn’t really matter who they are do they?” He looks around at the collection of faces.

“Who shall I choose for first blood do you think?” Mitchell feels something inside of him spark when Wyndam’s cold blue eyes stop on him. He smiles and holds out a hand.

“How about you Mr Mitchell?” he invites and Mitchell feels his eyes widen slightly.

“Me?” he stutters stupidly and inwardly curses himself. Wyndam’s smile widens very briefly.

“Yes _you_ Mr Mitchell, how about it? Do you want first taste?” he asks. Mitchell’s feet move almost of their own volition. He walks towards them, his eyes flitting between Wyndam and the terrified girl. He stops in front of them.

“I want it,” he admits.

“Very good.” The two men release their hold on the girl and she all but falls into Mitchell’s arms. He grabs onto her and looks down at her face. He sees tears streak down over plump apple cheeks and drip off her chin. He tightens his grip on her upper arms and feels his eyes go shiny black. He hears her gasp of fear but she seems transfixed by them all the same.

“There there now,” he murmurs as he uses a hand to brush her hair to one side, exposing the clean white line of her neck. He hears her gasp again, feels her tremble and he’s reminded of when he was a child and holding onto a rabbit and marvelling at just how rapidly its heart pounded away in its ribcage. The girl doesn’t fight back; she’s almost rigid with fear now, possibly on the verge of fainting in his arms. He draws her up to him and his black eyes slide blissfully closed as his fangs puncture her soft skin. Her blood floods his mouth and flows down his throat. She goes lax in his arms but he can still hear the pound of her heartbeat. A moment or two passes and he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“That’s enough John.” Wyndam’s voice sounds like its coming from a very long way away. He doesn’t want to give the girl up, not now but he knows that he has to. He lifts his head and looks in his direction, Florence’s blood streaming down his chin.

“How does she taste?” Wyndam enquires. Someone hands him a napkin which in turn he hands to him. Mitchell wipes at his face and allows his eyes to return to normal.

“Delicious,” he admits. Wyndam smiles broadly.

“Excellent, that’s the kind of answer that I like to hear,” he announces and Mitchell hears the swell of voices, their approval. He feels Florence’s blood course through him, the vitality from it making his entire body tingle. He sees Lily across the room, standing with Eleanor and there’s a strange expression on her face.

It almost looks like pride. He stays still and watches her cross the room to him, she slides her arms around him and she presses her body up against his and presses a kiss on his cheek. It feels like a stamp of ownership.

* * *

 

He feels almost euphoric and he wants to laugh at the world. He stumbles out of the cab after dumping a handful of money into the driver’s hand. He’s swaying on his heels as Lily exits after him. They stand on the pavement and watch the cab pull away. Mitchell looks up at the dark blue sky and he closes his eyes to the breeze that tickles his face.

“Are you going to stand there grinning like an idiot all night?” Lily enquires and he looks at her. The smile doesn’t leave his face and instead he presses a loud kiss against her lips and he laughs at her blink of surprise.

“We need to get inside, it’s late,” she chides but he hears the laughter in her voice. She grabs his hand and pulls him towards the front door.

Lily takes his key and she unlocks the door. He falls inside as the door swings open and he staggers into the hallway. He laughs and Lily’s eyes go wide.

“John, you’ll wake up the whole house!” she hisses, pushing her hand across his mouth. His shoulders tremble with laughter, his eyes all but sparkle. He straightens up as she closes the door behind them. He listens but he can’t hear anything.

They climb the stairs and they pause outside of Mitchell’s bedroom door. He feels drunk on the combination of blood and alcohol. It has been a revelatory evening. He’s discovered that Old Ones exist within the vampire community and that he attracted the attention of one of them. He looks into Lily’s blue eyes and he smiles. His hand comes up to touch her face and her responding smile is indulgent, content and she leans into him and kisses him.

“Good night,” he whispers and she makes a show of widening her eyes.

“Oh I haven’t finished with you yet young man,” she promises in a low voice and she takes his hand and pulls him across the narrow corridor and through a white painted door.

“What are we doing in here?” Mitchell enquires as he takes in the blue and white tiled bathroom.

“We need to talk somewhere where we won’t be overheard,” she tells him. She pushes him up against the wall and he frowns at her.

“In the bathroom?”

“Why not in the bathroom?” She reaches inside of his jacket and her hands smooth over his chest and stomach and she pushes his jacket off his shoulders and it falls ignored to the floor.

“Lily…” Anything else he’s about to say is silenced by her lips on his. He feels her yank his shirt from his trousers and grasp the button band. She yanks hard and he’s dimly aware of hearing the ping of buttons ricocheting in several different directions. His eyes open.

“Jesus Lily, that’s my best shirt,” he mutters, closing his eyes against the sensations that she’s unleashing inside of him, the feel of her lips against his skin.

“So I’ll buy you another one, I’ll buy you a dozen new ones,” she whispers against his throat. She lifts her head and she smiles triumphantly into his eyes.

“Don’t you understand John? You were noticed tonight. Edgar Wyndam _himself_ noticed you…you got to taste first blood.”

“And that’s good?” He sees her roll her eyes.

“Edgar rarely if ever offers anyone else taste first blood but he offered it to you.”

“How old is he anyway?” Mitchell enquires “and why hasn’t Herrick ever mentioned him or the Old Ones for that matter?” He frowns and again Lily raises her head from his chest and she stares at him.

“No one knows for sure how old he is but he’s very old, that much is known. He keeps his cards close to his chest, you know what he wants you to know about him” She gives a delicate little shiver. He recognises the flare of something that lights up her eyes.

“Would you ever…have you ever….with him?” he asks and she stares at him.

“What are you talking about?” she demands almost primly.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about Lily; I’m sure the thought has crossed your mind?”  He watches as her eyes gleam almost mischievously.

“Do I sense jealousy John?” she teases and her smile makes her eyes twinkle attractively. He doesn’t smile back. He grabs hold of her upper arms and he spins her around until she’s pinned up against the bathroom wall. He stares into her eyes.

“One thing you’ll find out about me sweetheart is that I don’t share, I will kill anyone who stands in my way.” Her eyes widen briefly as he lets go of one of her arms to pull the skirt of her dress up around her waist. His fingers touch and test delicate skin and he feels her reaction. He smiles into her eyes but that smile doesn’t hold any real warmth, there’s a threat just beneath the surface. He leans towards her and he presses an almost chaste kiss on her lips. At the same time he pushes his way inside of her.

“I mean it Lily, you mess me around with another bloke and I’ll kill you. No second chances.” He hears her whispery gasp as he pushes himself deep inside of her. Her eyes slide closed and her head thumps back against the cold tile. When they open again they’re glassy black. She stares at him and he allows his own eyes to change in response.

She clings to him almost desperately, sinking her fangs into the skin between his neck and shoulder. It’s a sharp pain and it makes him wince. He pulls her head back and sees his blood on her lips.

“No second chances Lily, you’re mine,” he whispers to her. Her eyes flash blue and her fangs retract.

“I’m yours,” she admits.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gap between fledgling and sire begins to widen as Lily begins to exert her influence. Mitchell is a vampire on a mission.

**Chapter Eleven:**

Herrick walks into the kitchen and he pauses when he sees Mitchell already at the table. A quick glance at the clock on the wall tells him that the soldier is awake early. The two men exchange a look but don’t immediately speak. Instead Herrick walks over to the side cabinet that holds some toast, coffee, butter, jam and other bits and pieces. There’s no sign of the cook he’s employed for such tasks, he supposes she’s busy elsewhere.

Herrick takes a seat opposite Mitchell with his tea and a light breakfast. Still neither man speaks. Herrick suppresses a quiet sigh as he reaches for the second newspaper that graces the kitchen table.

Mitchell glances briefly at him but promptly returns his attention to the newspaper that is open in front of him.

The fire has made the paper and his dark gaze scans the information eagerly. A sigh escapes him and he sits back in his chair and reaches for his tea cup. Herrick raises his head at the noise and regards him.

“What?”

 Mitchell looks at him over the rim of his cup and slowly replaces it on the table. “The fire, the police are ruling it an accident and that…Charlotte was a victim of the blaze,” he tells him and he looks away. Herrick doesn’t say anything for a moment or two; he takes a mouthful of his own tea and carefully places the china tea cup back onto its saucer.

“Seems like you dodged a bullet soldier,” he says in a mild voice. Mitchell’s gaze sharpens.

“What would’ve happened otherwise, if it hadn’t been ruled an accident?” he asks and Herrick regards him.

“We would’ve got out of here, headed for Europe or somewhere similar til it all calmed down,” he eventually replies. He watches as Mitchell drains the last of his tea and re-folds the newspaper. He’s sitting there with his shirt unbuttoned with his vest on show for anyone to see and he doesn’t seem to care. He could also do with a shave. He frowns slightly. He really doesn’t seem to care at all. It makes him peevish.

“Had a good night last night did we?” he asks.

Mitchell pauses very briefly as he makes to stand up. “I did actually, thanks,” he answers.

“You certainly made enough noise when you got back,” Herrick tacks on when he realises that he’s not about to share where he went. It won’t have been anywhere good if Lily is involved, which he suspects is the case. “You’ll be careful, won’t you soldier?” he continues and Mitchell frowns at him.

“Why?” he demands suspiciously. Herrick regards him. How can he explain that he has the strongest suspicion that Lily is up to something without sounding jealous or even…suspicious.

“I’m just saying that’s all. Lily has been around a lot longer than you have, she could get you into a lot of trouble very easily,” he replies instead.

“I’m fully aware of what she’s like,” Mitchell retorts almost defensively and Herrick just continues to regard him.

“Are you sure?” he queries and Mitchell’s frown deepens.

“Absolutely,” he confirms and Herrick watches him stride out. He sighs and looks at his tea cup.

He wishes that he could believe him.

* * *

 

Its late afternoon when Lily makes reappearance. Mitchell has spent much of the day keeping to the house and thinking about the party the previous evening. Lily had disappeared by the time he’d woken up and he has no idea where she’s been.

“Where have you been?” he demands as she comes up to him, intent on pressing a kiss on his cheek. She pauses and she frowns.

“I’ve been…busy,” she replies. Mitchell catches the infinitesimal pause and he frowns at her.

“Doing what? You were gone when I woke up.” He discards the newspaper he’s been perusing and he stands up. Lily takes a hasty step backwards as he brushes past her.

“Just…things. I don’t have to explain my every single movement to you John, it’s not as though we’re married.”

Mitchell pauses and glares at her.  “You disappeared without a word Lily,” he snarls “I worry,” he softens the tone. She goes to him and she wraps her arms around his shoulders and this time she does kiss his cheek, brushing away the lipstick imprint that it leaves behind.

“I’m sorry darling; I’ll try to remember next time. As it is, I have some exciting news to share,” she breathes and he watches how her eyes widen beguilingly.

“The party we attended last night? Well…Edmund wants to host one at his home next weekend and he wants you and me to attend. He liked you very much and would love to get to know you better.”

She waits.

“Why?” he demands and she frowns.

“Why not? It’ll be _fun_ darling. I’ve decided to accept on our behalf and Edmund wants you to provide the entertainment.”

“Entertainment?” It’s not a question and she rolls her eyes.

“Are you being deliberately dense sweetie? Like Florence?” She watches his reaction. His frown doesn’t really dissipate and she contains her sigh. He’s being obtuse; he’s sulking about her leaving him by himself earlier.

“And how am I supposed to do that?” he demands crossly and she moves away from him.

“I’m sorry alright? I should’ve told you I was going out this morning but you looked so peaceful fast asleep like that that I didn’t have the heart to wake you, am I forgiven?” He hears the granite beneath her apology. “Use that infamous charm of yours John; it can get you anything you want when you really try.”

He nods. “Fine, and I have til the party?” He glances at her and she smiles.

“Til the party darling. Please, am I forgiven?” she walks slowly towards him. She presses herself up against him, her hand in the centre of his chest. She feels his arm snake around her waist and she rests her forehead against his shoulder and she hides a victorious smile.

* * *

 

He’s supposed to provide the entertainment for this party that Lily is intent on them attending on Saturday. He wonders how he’s supposed to do that by the weekend.  He walks through the centre of town, his brow furrowed in thought. Lily has mentioned that he use his charm. He sighs. Sometimes he just doesn’t want to, it’s just easier to bite and feed, and sometimes charm can be an utter pain in the arse. He lifts his head and he sees the tea shop across the road. He pauses and it’s then that he sees her through the large window. She’s standing beside a table, a notepad in her hand and she’s smiling at a customer and writing something down. She looks to be quite young with creamy pale skin and lots of black hair. He stares, quite unable to believe his eyes. She’s quite enchanting. He watches how she seems to sense that she’s being observed. She lifts her head and her eyes scan the street in front of her. Mitchell turns and pretends great interest in the shop window in front of him. He stares ahead. He can see her reflection in the glass. He sees her turn and walk away from the tea shop window. Slowly he turns back around and he stares speculatively at her departing back. Then he slowly smiles.

* * *

 

She’s been on her feet all day and they’re killing her. She longs for clocking off time when she can get herself off home, kick off her shoes and relax for a short while. As it is, she still has a couple of hours left before she can achieve this. She sighs quietly and flexes aching shoulder muscles. She checks her order pad and pencil and her eyes take in the interior of the tea shop which has kept her gainfully employed for the last three months.

She sees him sitting beside the window. He has a newspaper in front of him and he’s reading it with a frown on his face. She stares at him. He’s really quite handsome in a dark, dare she say it, _dangerous_ kind of way. He has the most arresting eyes, such a wonderful shape. She takes in the rest of his face, the slicked back dark hair, the clean shaven jawline, that sensuous bottom lip. He’s almost beautiful, in a Valentino kind of way. Something trembles inside of her. She takes a breath and heads towards his table.

* * *

 

He lifts his head as she approaches his table. He knows that she’s been watching him. He’s made sure that she could see him and there’s the fact that he can hear her heartbeat thundering away from across the busy tea shop. He bites back a triumphant smile as he watches her approach. He takes in her small heart shaped face, the thick mass of black hair that is brutally pinned up behind the neat black and white cap. Her eyes are wide and deep blue and her lips are full, almost bee stung. She’s bewitching to look at.

“Good afternoon sir, may I take your order?” she enquires. Her voice is soft, her accent sounds local. This time he does smile.

“Just tea thank you,” he replies. His accent catches her attention; he sees the flare of interest warm those beautiful eyes.

“I can’t tempt you with anything else?” His eyes widen very slightly at her forwardness. She’s interested already. Maybe this won’t be so difficult after all.

“Unfortunately not, tea will be enough for now, I don’t really have a sweet tooth.” He widens his smile and watches her scribble down his order on her note pad. The next time she looks at him, there’s a faint pink blush warming her cheeks.

“Your tea will be along shortly sir,” she informs him, her voice slightly breathless.

“I’ll look forward to it,” he tells her. She pauses for a moment before collecting herself and walking away. He allows himself a small smile.

Target acquired.

* * *

 

She brings him his tea and he watches her as she sets out the tea cup, saucer, tea pot, sugar and small jug of milk. She carefully places the small silver teaspoon beside the cup and as she straightens, her eye catches his. He slowly, almost knowingly smiles and she feels herself blush again.

“Thank you…” He pauses.

“Jessie,” she supplies breathlessly and he inclines his head very slightly.

“Thank you Jessie,” he continues. She watches him for a few seconds more before giving herself a quick mental shake and turning to check on the other customers.

He takes his time drinking his tea and reading his newspaper. Gradually the clientele thins out and he’s alone. The other waitresses have disappeared to the back of the shop. It’s almost closing time. She’s hovering nearby; he can see her out of the corner of his eye as he drains the last dregs of his tea. She’s by his table before the cup hits the saucer. He turns his head and his smile is soft, almost tempting and she smiles in response. She hands him the bill and he reaches into his pocket for his cash.

“Tell me Jessie, would you think it very forward of me to ask what time you got off work tomorrow?” He keeps his voice low, intimate and it has the desired effect. The colour rises in her cheeks again and he must admit that he finds the play of emotion fascinating. Her eyes widen slightly but he watches her carefully.

“No, not at all. I finish at five…tomorrow.”

“How about we meet somewhere after you finish?” he suggests, handing her the cost of the tea plus a generous tip.

“The park at the end of the road, I could meet you at the gate for quarter past?” she replies and he slowly nods.

“I could do that. Quarter past five tomorrow?” She nods almost eagerly and he smiles.

“I’ll look forward to it.” He begins to rise.

“Wait.” He pauses and looks enquiringly at her.

“Your name, you didn’t tell me your name,” she asks breathlessly. He smiles again.

“It’s John. See you tomorrow.” She stands rooted to the spot as he gets up and leaves. As he passes the window, he glances up, catches her eye and smiles very slightly.

She feels a shiver in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

 

He gets to the park gates for five past the hour and he smokes a cigarette as he waits. Lily has been asking him whether he has the entertainment planned and he’s deliberately kept quiet. Two can play at her game and he knows that she’s intrigued and just a little bit annoyed. It serves her right.

On the way to his meeting with Jessie, he’s been vigilant, watchful to make sure that he isn’t being followed and he’s satisfied that he hasn’t been.

At exactly quarter past, he sees her walking towards him. He straightens up and puts out his cigarette. He pastes a smile on his face as she joins him.

“I’m not late am I?” She sounds a little breathless and he can hear the patter of her heartbeat.

“You’re right on time.” He holds out his arm and smiles slightly as she slips her hand into the crook of his elbow.

“Shall we walk for a little while?” he suggests. Jessie nods and together they enter the park.

It’s not very busy at this time of the afternoon and that is what Mitchell is counting on. People are intent on getting home and not paying attention to their surroundings or to other people but he keeps his head down all the same. It would only take one person.

He listens to her chatter. Despite his intentions, she is really rather sweet. He finds out that she has worked at the tea shop for three months but she doesn’t intend for it to be a career choice. She wants to make it as an actress, she’s taking classes in her spare time and she’s very passionate about it. He listens as she talks about her favourite actors and actresses, Rudolph Valentino, Douglas Fairbanks, Clara Bow, Mary Pickford- one day she’s going to be as big a star as them. She lives with a girlfriend, she’s enjoying her independence but she’s also close to her parents and her younger sister and brother. She seems to be full of plans and aspirations.

It’s really such a pity.

He walks her to catch her bus and he invites her to see a film the following evening and she breathlessly, almost excitedly accepts. He presses a chaste kiss on her cheek before she gets on the bus and he watches it pull away, lifting a hand to respond to her wave. There’s a soft smile on his face as he does so. When he turns, the smile is gone and his eyes are ice cold.

* * *

 

He lets himself into the house and he closes the door behind him. He sighs quietly and then shrugs off his jacket and he loosens his tie. He turns towards the staircase.

“Mitchell?” He pauses, a foot on the first step when he hears Herrick’s voice. Slowly he turns and sees him standing in the entrance of the living room.

“You were gone for a while.”

“You’re not my father Herrick, I had to go out,” he replies. Herrick tilts his head to one side and he walks towards him.

“Oh really and what was so important that you were missing for an entire afternoon?” he enquires in a silky smooth voice. Mitchell doesn’t answer him, instead he frowns.

“Ah, I see, a mission for Miss Vale I take it? Well don’t say that I didn’t warn you John. I need you tomorrow afternoon, a trip out of town, Marco has a lead on a lyco and we need to check him out.” He turns as if that’s the matter dealt with. Mitchell sighs and briefly lowers his head.

“I can’t. You’re going to have to ask someone else, Seth maybe,” he tells him and Herrick pauses. He slowly turns around again.

“But I don’t want Seth, I want you. People take you a lot more seriously than they do of Seth. Whatever Miss Lily has planned for you, cancel it.” His tone hardens. Mitchell swallows. He has to tread carefully. He’s incurred Herrick’s wrath once already, twice might be pushing it.

“I can’t, I’m sorry but I won’t. Ask Seth or if you want muscle, take Marco. I’ll go along to the next one, just not this one.” He turns again.

“John. You’re making a very big mistake here.” Herrick’s voice vibrates with frustration and anger. Mitchell glances at him over one shoulder as he begins to climb the staircase.

“What are you going to do Herrick, throw me out? See if I care,” he throws back at him. Herrick stands at the bottom of the staircase and glares at him until he’s out of sight.

* * *

 

He meets her outside of the picture house. As he approaches, he sees how nervous she is, as if she’s expecting to be stood up. The relief on her face is naked as she turns and spies him. He schools his expression into one of abject apology.

“I’m so sorry, I was held up, we haven’t missed it have we?” Her eyes are wide as she shakes her head. She takes him in.

“No. Actually you’re not late, in fact I’m a little bit early,” she replies. He takes her hand in his.

“Shall we go inside then?” Her nod is hasty and they follow the crowds inside.

* * *

 

He turns his attention to the screen as the lights go down. He loves the movies. He doesn’t get much of an opportunity to visit but when he does, he’s entranced. He feels like he’s in another world, one where he can forget about his troubles, his reality and get involved with someone else’s. He prefers comedies, he likes to laugh and he’s especially fond of Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton makes him roar but like everyone else he also likes to be entertained and impressed and Douglas Fairbanks is at the top of the pile for him in that respect. He remembered that Jessie is a fan of Fairbanks and its one of his films that they’re seeing tonight.

It’s dark when they emerge and a fine misty rain is falling. Mitchell watches as she pulls her coat closer around her body and shivers against the inclement weather.

Ten minutes later they’re seated at a table in a small out of the way bistro and sharing a simple meal and a bottle of wine. He watches her as she eats. She is the prettiest little thing, even more so out of her work clothes and in what she’s wearing. She isn’t the butterfly that Lily is but with the right amount of care, she has the potential to come close.

“Jessie.” She looks up and he leans across the table and covers one of her hands with his own.

“I was wondering…” His voice tails off as he scans her face.

“I’ve been invited to a party on Saturday evening, a lot of…important people are going to be there and I need to make a good impression. I was wondering…would you accompany me by any chance?” He watches as her eyes go round and he sees the glow in them.

“Me?”

He smiles. “Yes you. What do you say? You never know, it might advance your burgeoning acting career, I believe one or two of the guests have contacts in that business.” The glow gets brighter and she swallows. Then slowly at first, she nods.

“Of course. Thank you, I’d love to accompany you,” she almost stutters and he sighs with relief.

“Wonderful. I could meet you say, seven o’clock? If you give me your address, I could meet you outside of your building?” he suggests.

“That would be…fine,” she replies and Mitchell feels the satisfaction grow inside of him.

Mission accomplished.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mitchell begins to have his suspicions about Lily.

**Chapter Twelve.**

“And why can’t I come with you?” Lily demands. Mitchell glances at her as he straightens the cuffs of his shirt beneath the jacket.

“Because I said so,” he replies patiently and he watches her frown and her bottom lip is pushed mutinously out.

“I could just follow you.”

“You could but you won’t. You’ll take a taxi to Edmund’s house as promised and I’ll be there later. Everything is under control and I won’t have you jeopardising anything.”

“I don’t think you have any entertainment arranged, I think you’re going to meet someone, another woman!” she accuses.

He sighs loudly. “For Christ’s sake Lily will you please just trust me, when I say everything is under control, it is. You’ll see for yourself at Edmund’s party.”

“Oh like you had Charlotte Blythe-Pearson under control?” she retorts waspishly. Mitchell frowns darkly. He spins and grabs her roughly by her upper arms.

“Actually, I think I should just forget about it all don’t you? I think I might just go off down the pub for a drink or few instead.” He lets go of her and reaches for his tie, intending to remove it. Right now a few pints down the local sounds like bliss instead of listening to Lily whine and complain like a spoiled child.

Lily is in front of him in a flash.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry darling, I didn’t mean to sound so petulant. You’re just being so mysterious that’s all.” Her hands cover his at his tie and he glares at her.

“You don’t like not being the one in control that’s all. Get used to it Lily, I won’t be pushed around like some sort of idiot.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers and prises his fingers away from his tie. She looks up at him. She smiles.

“I’ll see you at Edmund’s house,” she promises and she stands on tiptoe and presses a tiny kiss on the corner of his mouth.

* * *

 

Mitchell checks the address as the taxi pulls up at the kerb. The front door of the building opens and he sees Jessie emerge.

“Wait here,” he instructs the taxi driver and he gets out. He stands on the pavement and watches her approach.

“John,” she greets shyly and he makes a show of looking her up and down. She’s wearing a gown of a dark burgundy colour and she’s painted her lips to match. She looks a far cry from the tea shop waitress of earlier. He holds out a hand.

“You look…beautiful, truly beautiful,” he complements and watches her blush and dip her head. Her shyness is really rather sweet.

“Our taxi awaits,” he tells her and opens the cab door and watches her get in. He catches a drift of perfume and his eyes momentarily scorch black. He blinks and it’s gone.

* * *

 

The cab pulls up smoothly outside of a tall townhouse in a terrace of similar buildings. It reminds him of the previous party they’d attended. He pays the driver and exits and helps Jessie out.

The door opens and Mitchell is surprised to see Edmund himself there.

Edmund blinks and then smiles. “John!” he announces and he shakes his hand with surprising enthusiasm. It’s then he notices his companion and his gaze sharpens in a way that only Mitchell notices.

“Oh, and who is this little confection?” he enquires. Mitchell glances at her, a half smile on his face.

“This Edmund, is Jessie,” he introduces. He sees how his eyes go round and the look he shoots back at Mitchell is speculative.

“Really, well it’s very lovely to meet you Jessie. Please both of you, come in, come in!” he invites and stands to one side.

He helps Jessie out of her evening coat and a waiter magically materialises with a tray containing two glasses. Mitchell takes them both and smiles his thanks. He hands one of them to Jessie. He watches her take a sip. Her eyes sparkle like the champagne. He knows that won’t last for long.

He knows that the champagne is drugged.

* * *

 

 “So _that’s_ your little surprise darling, wherever did you find her?” Lily can barely keep the scorn out of her voice and Mitchell fixes her a level look.

“You sound jealous sweetheart,” he replies and she frowns at him.

“Jealous of _that_?” she all but exclaims and Mitchell’s response is a slow, sly smile. Oh she’s jealous. He almost regrets giving Jessie the drugged champagne; it would’ve been interesting to push Lily’s buttons for a little bit longer.

“Careful, your claws as well as your fangs are showing,” he murmurs to her.

* * *

 

One of the waiters has taken Jessie away to sleep off what she thinks is too much champagne. In reality, the drug is only to make her more compliant, more suggestible to the evening’s events. Mitchell watches her being escorted away. The poor thing hasn’t even realised what lies in store for her, that all of his promises have been empty ones.

He sees her across the room again. Mitchell watches her. It’s Eleanor Brennan and he wonders why she’s at yet another party that they’re attending. Their eyes meet and hold. Eleanor doesn’t smile, there’s no expression in her clear gaze and after a moment she looks away again and Mitchell watches her conversing with her companion, a young dark haired man he’s never seen before. He watches him turn his head and observe him for a long moment. A prickle of something travels up and down his spine. He stares back, he will not be the first one to look away and after a moment he returns his attention to Eleanor again.

He hears a commotion at the door. He turns his head when he hears Edmund’s Scottish brogue inform someone that they aren’t welcome in his home. He frowns as the door opens.

Mitchell has never seen him before. He’s tall pale and slender with long dark curls. He’s almost… _pretty_ to look at. He watches him pause and scan the faces present. They rest upon his and just as quickly he’s discarded. Mitchell is intrigued. He watches him cross the living room and stand in front of Eleanor. She doesn’t look very pleased to see him judging by the frown marring her pale face. Mitchell finds this even more interesting.

“John?” Mitchell is distracted by Lily’s voice. He turns in her direction and at the same time so does the newcomer. Mitchell freezes and sees the expression that crosses his young face. It’s one of almost adoration. He watches him stride towards Lily. In turn, her eyes go wide with what looks like horror and she backs away from him. She sends a wide eyed look Mitchell’s way and he makes his way towards her. He stands beside her and he faces the stranger.

“That’s as close as you get,” Mitchell tells him, slamming a hand in the centre of his chest. The stranger stares at him with wide, shocked pale green eyes.

“Who is this Lily? Is this my replacement?” he demands. Mitchell glares at him.

“I have nothing more to say to you Donovan, please leave me alone.” Her voice shakes with fear and Mitchell takes a protective step closer to her side.

“You heard the lady,” he warns him and the stranger’s expression changes. He looks down at his hand which is still in the centre of his chest.

“Oh another Irishman, how… _novel_. Be warned whoever you are, she has a special _weakness_ for Irish vampires,” he hisses at him. His eyes flash black for an instant. Mitchell’s hand tightens into a fist as he grabs a handful of his shirt. He spins him around.

“I think you’ve outstayed any welcome you may think you have here Donnie old boy,” he snarls into his face.

 All of a sudden, he’s surrounded by people, two men grab Donovan’s arms and Mitchell releases his hold on him as he’s dragged out of the room.

An awkward hush falls over the room. Mitchell straightens his tie and then looks at Lily.

“Who was that?” he demands. Lily looks at him.

“Nobody of importance,” she responds, her equilibrium restored. In fact there’s a weird glow in her eyes as she smiles up at him.

“Are you sure about that because he seems to think otherwise.” His voice is hard and she stares up at him.

“We had a brief… _relationship_ but he saw more into it than I did, I ended it, he took it badly. That’s it, the whole story.” She looks away and across the room. Mitchell’s eyes follow suit and he finds himself staring at Eleanor Brennan again.

It niggles at him.

* * *

 

He slips away. To be honest, the party is beginning to bore him. The arrival of Lily’s previous paramour has unsettled him a little bit and he needs to think.

He lets himself out of the house but doesn’t shut the door completely. He stands on the stairs and takes his cigarette case out of his jacket pocket. He lights a cigarette and inhales. He stares out across the dark street as he blows out a plume of smoke. He frowns when a shadow catches his attention at the bottom of the stairs. He watches it for a moment and realises that it’s a person. Silently he makes his way down and he sighs when he recognises who it is.

“Donovan. Can’t you take a hint?” he grumbles. He watches him step beneath a streetlight. It gives his face a strange ethereal beauty.

 “I don’t want any trouble,” he begins and Mitchell takes a threatening step towards him. Donovan hastily backs away.

“For not wanting to cause trouble mate, you’re doing nothing but,” he snarls at him.

“I can’t stay away from her.” Donovan’s voice rises in brief fear as he sees his naked hostility.

“You’re going to have to, she doesn’t want to see or speak to you.”

“You don’t know that.” Donovan’s tone becomes stubborn and Mitchell rolls his eyes.

“Yes I do, I think her reaction to you in there was plain. She wants you to leave her alone.” He’s running out of patience. There’s a brief but palpable silence.

“What’s your name?” Donovan enquires and Mitchell frowns at him.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because six months ago I was in your very shoes, warning off someone else she’d pulled under her spell, someone she got tired of. She enticed me, she wove this magical spell around me and she utterly seduced me.” He smiles faintly at the memory. His eyes go to Mitchell’s face.

“My name is Donovan Flynn,” he introduces. He holds out a hand. Mitchell stares at it for a long time before he takes it and shakes it very briefly. He pushes that hand into his trouser pocket and goes back to smoking his cigarette.

“John Mitchell,” he mutters.

“But you answer to Mitchell.” He sees his look of surprise.

“I answer to Flynn but Lily always called me Donovan, no matter how many times I asked otherwise, it was as though she was trying to make a gentleman out of me.” His voice softens.

“And did she?” Mitchell asks and Flynn shrugs.

“Somewhat,” he admits.

“Her trick is to isolate you from those closest to you. If you’re still with your sire, then beware because she’ll use any means necessary to get you away from him…or her.” He looks at him again. “She doesn’t like to share. She likes to have her own way all the time. Oh she’ll humour you, make you think that you’re in charge but she’s just indulging you and once it’s too late and you’re hooked on her, it’s then that you realise that she’s been playing you for a fool and you won’t care because you will do utterly anything for her.”

“I’m not like that,” Mitchell all but snarls at him, shifting uncomfortably at his words. How they sting with insight.

“And once upon a time I would’ve said the exact same thing myself. She’ll get her claws into you Mitchell and once she does, watch your heart. She gets bored easily, if you don’t play her game, if you don’t give into her, she’ll get bored and she’ll turn her attention to someone else. I’d watch the vampire with Eleanor tonight, I don’t know who he is but I can imagine that Eleanor is grooming him.”

“Grooming him?”

“Don’t you get it? She’s the one who recruited her, Eleanor is her sire. She watches over Lily like a mother with her child and she’s very protective of her charge.”

“We haven’t been introduced,” Mitchell mutters and a look of enlightenment crosses Flynn’s face then.

“Ah. Then you must be Lily’s little rebellion. Even better.” He fixes his attention on him.

“Lily has a weakness for Irish vampires, I’m from Galway originally, I’ll guess from your accent that you’re Dublin born and bred?” He watches Mitchell nod.

“Chances are Eleanor’s little protégé is too. How old are you? I can imagine that you’re quite young; otherwise Lily wouldn’t have hooked you in so easily. The older you are, the more jaded you become. You don’t look like you’re more than ten years in the making.”

“Eight,” Mitchell replies, feeling the heat of his annoyance burning in the pit of his stomach.

He glares at him. “If she’s this terrible… _thing_ then why are you here, why are you telling me all of this?” he demands.

Flynn’s answering smile is sad.

“Because I’m utterly addicted to her. Believe me, I’ve tried walking away and leaving her behind but I can’t give her up. She’s like an opiate, a strong drug that winds its way around your system and squeezes around your soul, no matter how much you want to, no matter how you long to give it up, it won’t let you, _she_ won’t let you,” he tells him with a tired expression of acceptance, of years borne of experience.

“So you’re warning me, is that it? Don’t you think I know my own mind, that I’d see this for myself?” Mitchell reacts crossly. Flynn shrugs.

“I don’t know but the fact that she hasn’t introduced you to Eleanor is interesting. Maybe she genuinely likes you, I don’t know but she used to keep a flat in Tenby Square, beside the railway station, number twenty. It’s her bolt hole, or at least it used to be. Have you heard of it?”  He watches him shake his head.

“She may have given it up.”

“She’s living with me, with my…”

“Your family. Be careful Mitchell, that’s how she operates. Who’s your maker?”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“She’ll have a history with him…it is a he isn’t it because she won’t go near anyone with a female sire. She uses her charm, she’s very good at that.” His expression softens at the memory.

“She’ll blind you with her body, with her wiles and he’ll know exactly what she’s doing but of course you won’t hear a thing said against her, that’s her power Mitchell, her femininity,” he whispers. Mitchell frowns and swallows. Herrick hasn’t come out and said anything about Lily specifically but he’s sensed the undercurrent. He turns his head when he hears the front door open. He looks back at Flynn and at the same time a car pulls up to the kerb. He sees someone get out and stand beside the driver’s door. He’s short in stature with broad shoulders and short reddish blond hair and for a moment Mitchell thinks that it’s Herrick.

“That’s Reilly. He’s my sire,” Flynn whispers to him and he watches the man walk towards them. There’s a look of resignation on his face.

“Why am I not surprised?” he breathes, his eyes taking Mitchell in and disregarding him, pretty much as Flynn had done earlier. Flynn himself doesn’t offer an explanation apart from a slow shrug.

“Come along, before she comes out here and sees you.” He turns. Mitchell grabs Flynn’s arm as he takes a step and the two vampires look at each other.

“If I see you anywhere near Lily again, I’ll kill you do you understand?” he threatens in a low voice. Flynn regards him and there’s no fear on his face.

“You’d be doing me a great favour if you did,” he confesses softly. Mitchell lets go of his arm and watches him walk to the car and get in. He watches the vehicle pull away. He turns his head back to the front door and he sighs. He climbs the steps and goes back inside.

* * *

 

He rejoins the party. He hears their laughter, he can hear their voices and he should be right in the middle of it. He should be by Lily’s side and enjoying the festivities but Flynn’s words are revolving inside of his head. He sees Lily across the room, talking to Eleanor and it begins to click into place. She has introduced him to everyone apart from her. It didn’t bother him before now because he guessed that she would eventually. The dark haired man from earlier is also with them. He feels anger begin to slowly well up inside of him. He pushes it back down. For now it can wait.

The party has been declared a success. Mitchell walks with Lily towards the cab. His gift of Jessie has met with approval and Edmund has shaken him by the hand and proclaimed that he looks forward to getting to know him better. It’s been hard for Mitchell to keep up the facade.  He wants to rip this entire place apart. Instead he smiled and remained courteous.

Once the cab pulls away, Lily wraps her arms around one of his and she snuggles up against his shoulder. He catches a drift of her perfume. It entwines itself around his senses and he feels that familiar tug.

“We should throw another party, and soon,” she sighs. He looks at her. She looks supremely satisfied. She lifts her head from his shoulder and she looks at him. “Don’t you think so darling?” She frowns “is everything alright?” she enquires, seeing his dark frown. Instantly he clears his expression and he smiles.

“Everything is fine, I’m just…really tired and of course, another party and soon,” he tells her. Her eyes remain on his face for a fraction of a moment longer than usual. He lowers his head and snatches a quick kiss on her mouth and the frown clears.

“Everyone really loved you, you, sweetie, were an unqualified success,” she tells him with an indulgent smile.

“Really? With everyone?” Lily widens her eyes.

“Yes darling, with everyone,” she confirms.

“I meant to ask you earlier, who was the lady you were talking to, with the short blonde hair…you never did introduce us.” He watches her, sees how she frowns as if trying to place who he’s talking about.

“Who?”

“The lady in the dark green dress, Elizabeth…Ellen…” He deliberately keeps his expression vague and he sees the mild frown on Lily’s face.

“Oh, you mean Eleanor! Oh she’s nobody of importance my darling, just an acquaintance. Why do you ask?” she enquires.

“You spent quite a while chatting with her, that’s all.” He glances at her again. She shakes her head.

“No. Just a friend that’s all,” she replies.

 

The rest of the trip back to the house passes in relative silence.


	13. Chapter Thirteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revenge is a dish best served....bloody. 
> 
> Warnings for scenes of violence... Big Bad John comes to the fore....

**Chapter Thirteen:**

His mind is full of Flynn’s revelations of this evening. He’s also somewhat shocked that Lily’s sire is in fact a woman but then again he isn’t really, it makes sense to him now but why hasn’t she introduced them to each other? Is he really her ‘little rebellion’ as Flynn has insinuated? It touches a raw nerve with him.

The cab pulls up outside of Herrick’s townhouse and he pays the driver and gets out. Belatedly he remembers to wait for Lily and he ignores the strange little look that she sends him.

“What’s the matter darling?” she enquires in a low voice as they go into the house. He glances at her over one shoulder and his frown is deep. He wants to ask her about Eleanor but he’s concerned at her response. She told him that she’s an acquaintance when she most clearly isn’t. The fact that she’s lied to him needles him. Instead he just shakes his head.

“I’m just tired,” he answers instead. He feels her hand stroke the length of his arm.

“It’s not like you to be tired.” she soothes and the smile she sends him is suggestive, full of promise. At any other time it would’ve ignited his blood but tonight…tonight he wants to be by himself. He wants to think. He needs to see for himself. He has to plan.

“Well I am tonight, Jesus Lily,” he hisses, pulling his arm free. He strides away, climbing the stairs, deliberately avoiding her gaze. He pauses by his bedroom door and lowers his head. He lets out a sigh and he braces his hands on the wood. She’s not stupid; she hasn’t lived as long as she has without learning a trick or two, without recognising that something is wrong. She’ll guess in a moment that something is different. He has to be as clever as her, maybe even cleverer. She mustn’t suspect anything just yet. He lifts his head. He relaxes his shoulders and he turns his head. Lily is standing at the top of the staircase and she’s regarding him warily. He lowers his arms down by his sides and slowly he turns. He offers an apologetic smile.

“I’m a moody sod I know, but I _am_ tired. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He watches her walk towards him, a half smile on her beautiful face.

“We may not have known each other for very long John but I am aware of your moods, how quickly they can change. It’s just lucky for you that I’m the forgiving type,” she replies. She stands in front of him and she looks up at him, into his eyes. She puts her hand on his chest and his smile is suitably contrite. She stands on tiptoe and presses a kiss on his mouth. He feels his traitorous body begin to react. Her perfume entwines itself around him and clings on. He reaches for her, pulls her towards him with one hand, while the other fumbles for the door knob.

* * *

 

He leaves her sleeping. He’s awake early and his mind is still full. He hoped that a few hours of mindless sex would help but all it has succeeded in accomplishing is filling his head with more questions.

He heads downstairs and isn’t surprised to see Herrick in the kitchen. Neither man speaks.

Herrick watches him make tea and gather up some toast.  He sits at the table and Herrick watches him take a sip of what he knows will be blistering hot tea with plenty of sugar stirred in.

“Everything okay soldier?” he enquires in a mild voice. Mitchell lifts his eyes and he regards him. They hold for a long moment and then finally, eventually he nods.

“Everything is fine,” he replies.

Herrick continues to regard him.  Something is up with his protégé. He’s eight years in the making but he knows when there’s something up with the soldier. He won’t press the issue; Mitchell will tell him when he’s good and ready. He can be patient this time.

“Do you still need me for the lyco run?” Herrick is mildly surprised by the question and it must show on his face because Mitchell’s answering smile is wry. “I said I’d do it another night,” he reminds him and Herrick slowly nods. He had indeed.

“The weekend okay with you?”

Mitchell nods.

“Just let me know what time, I’ll be ready,” he replies. Herrick bites back a small smile of triumph.

“What if Miss Lily needs you?” he enquires silkily.

“She’ll just have to wait, the world doesn’t revolve around what she wants all the time,” he retorts.

“Does _she_ know that?” Herrick responds archly. Mitchell’s answering shrug is restless.

“Don’t know and to be honest, I don’t care,” he mutters. Herrick hides his smile as he takes an almost delicate sip of his tea. Oh dear. It would seem that there’s trouble in paradise. He wonders whether Lily is aware of this fact. Time will tell. He’s not about to enlighten her.

This is going to be interesting.

* * *

 

“I need to go to Bath with Herrick,” Mitchell informs Lily. He notices the small frown that appears between her eyes.

“Really darling? I thought you didn’t do that anymore?”

Mitchell turns to look at her. “Why would you think that? I work for Herrick, I always have and he has need of me.” He watches as she unfurls herself from the chair and slowly strolls towards him. She smiles up at him and she rests her hands on his shoulders.

“But you don’t plan to do that forever now do you? To work for him?”

He tilts his head slightly to the side when he hears the derision in her voice. “What’s the alternative?” he asks curiously because he would genuinely like to know of an alternative.

Her hands slide from his shoulders down the length of his arms to capture his hands.

“You attracted the attention of Edgar Wyndam the other evening Mitchell, he offered you first taste, that opportunity doesn’t come along very often.” Her voice lowers to a delicious whisper and her eyes sparkle.

He looks down at their joined hands. “So I attracted the attention of an Old One Lily, Herrick is my _sire_. He recruited me, he has taught me, _is_ teaching me everything that I need to know, why would I want to desert him?”

She lets go of his hands and takes a step backwards.

“I wasn’t suggesting that you desert him,” she parries and he frowns.

“Weren’t you? Then what were you suggesting?” he enquires and he waits. She looks up at him and her blue eyes are wide, almost dramatic.

“There’s a whole world out there John, just ready for us. Aren’t you even remotely curious to find out what’s out there?” she breathes.

“What’s the rush?” he asks. She shrugs restlessly.

“When you’re like us, the rest of the world can seem so small, so provincial,” she sighs.

“I’m content as I am Lily, if I want to move on then it’ll be in my own time and on my own terms,” he tells her, watching as she turns away from him.

“When are you going out with Herrick?” she asks, her voice heavy with something, it sounds almost like disappointment. He watches as she turns around to look at him.

“Tomorrow some time,” he tells her.

“Will you be gone for long?”

Mitchell shrugs. “It’s a run to check out a lyco, these things can go on all night or they could be done and dusted in half an hour, all depends on the lyco,” he replies flippantly. She sighs almost petulantly.

“Couldn’t Seth or Marco go instead?” She goes back to him and she presses herself up against him, her fingers sliding between the buttonholes of his shirt.

“No, I promised Herrick that I’d go this time, I’ve already put him off once already, if I do it again he won’t be happy.”

She looks up at him beneath long lashes. “To hell with Herrick,” she whispers.

“Pardon me? I can’t say no to him you know that, you do as your sire says without question or have you forgotten?” he enquires and she looks away. It makes her look strangely vulnerable for the briefest of moments before it’s gone and he sees her again. This time she smiles sweetly up at him.

“I’m sorry darling, sometimes William Herrick brings out the worst in me but you’re absolutely right, duty first and all of that.” She pats his chest and he watches her straighten up and walk out of the room. He stiffens when he sees Herrick approach. The look he exchanges with Lily is long but loaded. He turns his head and watches her walk away, towards the stairs. After a moment he enters the room she’s just vacated. Mitchell stays where he is as Herrick closes the door behind him.

“I didn’t know we’d planned a lyco run for tomorrow,” he comments in a low voice. He watches Mitchell’s gaze slide away from his face. He doesn’t respond.

“Want to share?” Herrick enquires.

“You shouldn’t be listening at doors Herrick, you might hear something you don’t like,” Mitchell informs him in a sharp tone.

Herrick slowly shrugs. “Oh I don’t know. You have something planned for tomorrow. You lied like a professional, I was almost proud,” he comments.

“Just leave it alone, please,” Mitchell retorts in an undertone.

“You forget Mitchell, whatever you have planned it’s going to be me that will have to tidy up after you. This is Lily we’re talking about,” he reminds him. Mitchell glares at him and walks away.

* * *

 

He feigns sleep but he’s aware of every move that she’s making. She thinks that she’s being quiet but a brass band playing in his room is quieter. He opens his eyes a slight fraction. She’s sitting at the dressing table and she’s pinning up her hair. It amazes him sometimes that she can do this by touch alone but he supposes that she’s had long enough to practice, to know how to do it. He closes his eyes. A short while later he hears the click of the bedroom door closing softly. He waits. After a few minutes he hears the front door close and he climbs out of bed and goes to the window. He sees her heading to the kerb as a taxi pulls up. He stays where he is, watching her as she climbs in and the cab pulls away.

He washes and dresses quickly.

* * *

 

He looks up at the pale blue sky and he feels the emerging sun warm his cold skin. He pauses on the top step for a moment and lifts his face to it. He takes a deep breath, the air filling and expanding his lungs and he slowly expels it. He slowly walks down the remaining steps and onto the street.

He doesn’t know how long he walks for but eventually he pauses. He realises that even though Flynn has told him about the address in Tenby Square, he has no idea of where it is. He closes his eyes for a brief moment. She might not even be there; she might not even rent the property any more. His eyes open and he blinks. She could be there and she could be with Flynn or the young vampire from the party. He swallows. He doesn’t know how he’ll react if that’s the case.

“Stop here,” Mitchell instructs the cab driver as the car emerges into a large maintained town square of tall, thin well looked after houses. Obediently the driver does so and Mitchell drops money into his hand and gets out of the cab. He stands on the pavement and watches it pull away. For a moment he stays still and watches everything that’s going on. It’s reasonably busy, the comings and goings regular. He stands beside railings and watches for a while.

He sees deliveries being made to the various properties, he sees people out walking their little dogs, children in perambulators and immaculate outfits and it makes him think of Alice. Nobody looks at him; it’s as if he’s invisible. He straightens up and crosses the street, heading towards a small square area of greenery in the centre. It’s a small fenced in park area for want of a better description. A railing surrounds an area of trees, flower beds and park benches. As he enters, his eyes scan the houses. He wonders which one is number twenty.

He pauses when sees a door open. He seeks sanctuary beneath a tree and watches as someone emerges from the interior. He frowns when he sees Eleanor Brennan emerge into the sunshine. She glances up at the sky and he sees her frown before she turns. Mitchell watches her turn to look at someone else. He carefully observes the exchange. There’s a hug, a smile and he watches how she cups her cheek. Lily smiles at Eleanor and from where he’s standing, Mitchell can see the affection in her eyes. As Eleanor turns, Mitchell melts back into the shadowy overhang of branches heavy with greenery.

He watches her cross the busy road and approach the entrance to the small park. Mitchell doesn’t move, he stays absolutely still. He doesn’t think that she can see him but he doesn’t underestimate her. He holds his breath as she pauses and his eyes narrow. She’s an Old One and he wonders whether she can sense the presence of other vampires? Old Edmund seemed to think that they’re a very big deal. She turns her head and he presses his back up against the tree trunk and he waits. After a long moment, she turns her head again and continues her journey. He watches her until she’s out of sight before he turns his attention to the property that she’s just exited. He takes a step away from his sanctuary beneath the tree and he stares at the building. He wonders where Lily is, which one is her flat.

* * *

 

Time passes.

He wants to confront her but he wants to create the element of surprise and the best way to achieve that is to show up unannounced, unexpectedly. He sees movement by a window and he turns his head slightly to watch it. Two shadows move in front of a window and he frowns very slightly. He swallows when he sees one of them come to the window and look out. He takes a step back but doesn’t tear his eyes away from the scenario unfolding in front of him.

It’s Lily. He watches as a pair of hands grasp her shoulders and she’s laughing as those hands turn her around and a dark head lowers and kisses her. Mitchell’s eyes widen with shock. He feels black rage swell inside of him. He clenches his hands into fists. He’s distracted by a delivery van pulling up outside of the property and someone gets out, hauling a basket of wares. Mitchell hurries across the busy street and follows the delivery man as he climbs the steps. He turns his head and looks at Mitchell who at the last moment turns his head and peruses the list of names on the buzzers beside the large black door. He sees the name ‘Brennan’ in black capital letters. She’s on the second floor. He looks up. At that moment, the door opens and Mitchell slips past the delivery man and gains entrance to the building.

He stands in front of the grand looking door to her flat. He can feel his anger at her betrayal bubbling inside of him, ready to erupt. He stands there for a moment and he closes his eyes. Again he clenches his fists and he takes a couple of deep, slow measured breaths. His eyes open and he lifts a hand. He knocks on the door. He waits.

“Did you forget…” he hears her laugh as she opens the door. As she comes into view, Mitchell bursts through. Lily squeals as the door flies out of her grasp. He pushes his way inside and wraps a hand around her slender neck. Her eyes are like saucers as she stares up at him in utter shock.

“Surprise _darling_!” he hisses, pushing his face close to hers. He kicks the door shut behind him. He looks up and he sees her friend emerge from the bedroom, he’s hastily tucking his shirt into his trousers and his eyes also widen upon spying Mitchell. He doesn’t move, a very wise move on his part. Mitchell returns his attention to Lily whose fingernails are scraping and scratching against his wrist. He tightens his grasp just a fraction and hears her responding croak. 

“The beauty of being a vampire is that I don’t need an invitation to enter your place. More fool you, yes?” He throws her into the living room. She falls onto the rug in front of the fire place. Mitchell hears movement behind him and he turns. It’s the vampire from Edmund’s party and his eyes are black as pitch. He flies at Mitchell. He grabs him by his shoulders, spins him and he throws him into the living room also. He crashes onto a low wooden coffee table and it explodes in an eruption of wood. Mitchell picks up a broken off table leg and he hefts it and rams it straight through his chest. He watches him gasp, clutching at his chest with wide panicked eyes before crumbling to dust. Mitchell turns his head and looks to Lily who is still lying prone on the floor, stunned into immobility.

“Get up,” he growls at her in a low voice. Lily’s eyes are wide and she’s watching the table leg that he’s still holding in his hand. He glances at it before returning his attention to her. His answering frown is dark and filled with foreboding.

“Are you fucking deaf? I said get _up_ ” he shouts and at the same time he reaches for her, grabbing her around the neck and he hauls her onto her feet. Her eyes scorch black as she fights him and Mitchell does likewise, flashing fangs at the same time. He shakes her hard.

“Who was that?” he demands, indicating the untidy pile of clothing that was once the vampire. She’s strangely subdued and it puzzles him.

“He was no one John, inconsequential,” she whispers, her eyes flashing blue.

“Wrong answer,” Mitchell retorts, tightening his grip. He looks down at the silk wrap that is covering her nakedness. Her hair tumbles unadorned over her shoulders to her waist. He sees the chestnut highlights glinting in the sunlight. He pulls her towards him until their faces are millimetres apart.

“I saw him at Edmund’s party, talking with Eleanor, your _sire._ Was I your little rebellion then darlin’, too embarrassed to introduce me to your _mother_?” he snarls softly. Her eyes go wide with fear. Mitchell’s answering smile is slow, cold and cruel.

“I had a conversation with your old boyfriend the same night, Mr Donovan Flynn; you _do_ like the Irish ones don’t you?” His grip on her tightens. “I told you after the first party didn’t I darlin’? About what I’d do if I caught you messing me around. Did you think I was _kidding_?” He lifts the stake and he looks at the broken tip, smeared with blood.

“John…please let me explain!” she gasps, her voice high with fear. Mitchell glares at her and he lifts her until the tips of her toes are all that’s touching the carpet. He drops the stake but reaches for something else from the dormant fireplace. The sibilant hiss of metal against metal is heard and Mitchell briefly tests the weight of it in his hand.

“Why? So you can lie to me again?” he retorts. He slams her up against a door and she blinks at the impact.  “Didn’t expect to see me here did you? You thought you were being clever, keeping me entertained back at the house and fucking that idiot behind my back. How many others were there Lily?”

“They meant nothing to me John, absolutely nothing,” she gasps. She tries to fight back. She’s older than him, she’s supposed to be stronger but he deduces that shock at being discovered like this has weakened her. This is when he’s at his strongest, catching them unaware, blitzing them, killing them before they realise what is happening.  

Mitchell laughs at her attack but the humour swiftly vanishes at her black eyed ferocity and he lets his own eyes flash black again.  He slams her up against the living room door.

“Ah, there’s that spirit, I knew she was in there somewhere,” he chuckles as she struggles. He stretches his arm out so that her blows fail to reach their target. He tightens his fist around what he’s holding in his right hand. He wields it and her eyes widen in sheer panic.

“John….please…” she begs and he pauses and tilts his head to one side.

“Please what? Please forgive you? I’ve already warned you, I’ve already _told_ you that there are no second chances with me. I meant it. Jesus, keep _still_!” he snarls as she struggles some more.

Lily’s scream is loud and unholy as Mitchell rams the poker that he’s been holding in his hand through her upper chest. It splinters through the wood of the door, effectively impaling her to it. Blood gushes from the wound, drenching the front of her robe. Her eyes go wide with shock and pain and she looks down at it as more blood begins to ooze from her mouth.

Mitchell stands still and just regards her.

“Ah, it won’t kill you darlin’, it’ll hurt like an utter bastard for a while but won’t kill you.” He takes a step towards her. He watches as she weakly lifts one hand and wraps her fingers around the metal rod. He covers the hand with one of his own and he slowly shakes his head.

“No. Leave it be sweetheart,” he tells her in a low, almost affectionate tone.

“I told you didn’t I? I _told_ you in that bathroom that I don’t share what belongs to me with anyone and you promised me that you belonged to me, that you were _mine_ and what do I discover? That you’re a faithless whore Lily Vale. I can see it now and you’ll be surprised at how clearly I _can_ see it.” He turns his head and its then that he sees the opulent floral display gracing a wall cabinet. He walks towards it and he stares at it for a moment. He can smell the sweet scent of roses, the spicy perfume of carnations, of other flowers that look pretty enough but he doesn’t know the names of. They are extravagant, beautiful, it reminds him anew of what is going on, tells him that they are what a lover would bring and he feels the anger. He looks down and sees the silvery scissors discarded beside the crystal vase. He picks them up and he turns. He sees her trying to remove the poker but it’s too deeply embedded. Her blood is dripping onto the floor now. He watches her for a few seconds before he strides towards her.

“John…please…this is madness, this is utter…utter madness. I’m so sorry…please…I won’t do it again,” she wails and then her voice fades as she watches him approach her again.

Her eyes go to his face as he touches her skin with tender, loving fingers.

“Flynn said I was your little rebellion, do you remember me saying that to you before? Is that what I am?” He traces the line of her cheekbone and then around her lips. He watches the path that his fingers make. She rapidly shakes her head.

“I think you’re lying to me again sweetheart, I know I am, otherwise you would’ve introduced me to Eleanor, you’ve had plenty of opportunities to do so but you never did, you even lied to me when you said she was…what was it you called her? Oh that’s right, an _acquaintance_. Does she know that’s what you called her?” He touches her hair, the long luxuriant strands slipping and sliding between his fingers. He lifts it to his face and he gently inhales.

“Ah God, your beautiful hair, your absolute pride and joy and you should be proud of it, it _is_ beautiful and you’re right, it does attract attention doesn’t it?” He gathers it all up into one handful. He lifts the scissors that he holds in his other hand and he slowly hacks through it. It takes a little time because there’s so much of it and it’s so thick but he cuts through it and he holds it in front of her horror struck face. He also sees the first genuine tears flood her eyes.

“Oh dear, well it won’t be attracting you any more attention now will it darling?” he replies with mock compassion. He opens his hand and he watches her face as the strands float to the floor at her feet.

He drops the scissors and they clatter onto the carpeted floor. He picks up the previously discarded stake and he’s back in front of her in an instant. Her chin is on her chest, her newly butchered hair sticking up in obscene tufts. He reaches for her and gently grasps her chin. He lifts her head. Her eyes are closed but there are sooty tracks running down her cheeks.

“Open your eyes for me sweetheart,” he cajoles and for a moment they remain obstinately closed. He pushes the tip of the broken table leg up against her chest, against her heart. She gives a grunt and her eyes pop open and she glares at him. He smiles.

“How many vampires like me have you used and discarded I wonder? It must be hundreds don’t you think? You’re a couple of centuries old I’ll guess and did it never _once_  occur to you that you’d find yourself in this kind of situation, that one of your conquests would turn on you?” He slowly shakes his head. She’s weak and pale from blood loss. She’ll need to feed soon to have any chance of surviving.

“Your mistake was thinking that I was like those other poor idiots, that I’d be so blinded by lust or love or whatever that I’d let you walk all over me. I was a soldier Lily and while I followed orders, I was able to think for myself too. You shouldn’t have treated me like I was stupid, that I was like _them._ ” He trails the broken tip along her ribcage, over her sternum to the soft skin at the base of her throat.

“My name is John Mitchell. Those who _know_ me call me Mitchell. I asked you to call me that but you never did. Calling me exclusively by my first name does not make me a gentleman, it doesn’t change who I am.” He traces the tip further up and along her jawline. “I asked you but you didn’t listen did you?” He lowers his voice to an undertone “And I warned you.” He leans close to her, so close that he can smell her perfume mixed in with the blood. He presses a kiss against her cheek.

“You should always listen Lily,” he whispers against her ear. He tightens his grip on the stake that he holds in his hand. He lowers it and he stares into her eyes.

“My eyes will be the last thing you’ll ever see Lily. I hope it was all worth it.” And he plunges the stake into her breast. She gasps and stiffens. He takes an unsteady step backwards as slowly she fades into ash. All that’s left is the robe wrapped around the poker and the hair at his feet. He drops the stake. It clatters ignored to the floor.

* * *

 

He’s initially numb as he slowly turns and sees her lover’s clothing in front of the fireplace. His eyes take in the opulent surroundings, the expensive furnishings, and the floral display and all of a sudden the rage erupts out of him and it explodes.

He’s panting by the time it abates and he surveys the wreckage of the room left in his wake. The mantelpiece is empty, its contents smashed on the hearth, tables are pushed over and broken, furniture is upside down and paintings have been ripped off the wall and smashed. The entire room is destroyed.

Mitchell straightens his jacket, his shirt collar, cuffs and finally the tie. With shaking hands he smooths back his hair and he leaves.

He exits the building and as he reaches the bottom of the stairs he sees Eleanor Brennan across the road. From either side of the road they stare at each other. She has a look of utter astonishment on her face while his own is emotionless. He sees how her eyes widen. She runs across the road, dodging vehicles and such like. He doesn’t move as she stops in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” she demands in a tight voice.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and ask Lily…oh…but you can’t.”

“What did you do to her?” she demands angrily and his answering smile is cold.

“What she had coming to her Eleanor,” he replies and he turns and he walks away.

 

He doesn’t hear Eleanor Brennan’s scream of horror and rage.


	14. Chapter Fourteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath and an audience with an Old One...

**Chapter Fourteen:**

Herrick watches him as he closes the door behind him. His head is down and his shoulders are slumped.

“Mitchell?” he enquires in a low voice and he watches as he slowly lifts his head and regards him. Herrick’s mouth goes dry when he sees the expression on his protégé’s face. His face is pale, much paler than usual but it’s the expression in his eyes that holds his attention. He takes a couple of steps towards him and then pauses. Something is wrong, something is _off_ about him. He tilts his head very slightly to one side.

“What’s happened?” he asks, his blue eyes taking him in. He seems a little…dishevelled which in all honesty isn’t something completely unexpected with him but this is different, he seems…tossed around somehow, as if it’s coming from inside of him.  It’s then that he sees the glitter of emotion in his eyes, the _pain_ within their depths. He frowns in mild puzzlement. He also sees the fine spray of blood that marks the collar of his shirt and his eyes flick to Mitchell’s face again. This can _not_ be good.

“Come along soldier.” He grasps Mitchell’s elbow and steers him into the living room. Mitchell doesn’t react; he doesn’t even pull his arm away as Herrick was expecting him to do.

Herrick closes the living room door behind them and he directs Mitchell towards a sofa.

“Sit down,” he instructs and goes to the drinks cabinet. Neither speaks as he gets out two heavy crystal glasses and sploshes a heavy measure of whisky in each one. He turns and he pauses. He sees the faraway look in Mitchell’s eyes and he feels something akin to worry begin to germinate inside of him. He’s used to Mitchell’s mercurial moods but this is something entirely different.

“Here.” He pushes the glass into his hands. Mitchell glances up at him before tossing the contents down in almost one gulp. He looks up at him again as he hands the glass back.

“Another?” Mitchell just nods and Herrick hands him the second glass and he returns to the cabinet for a refill. As he turns, he’s relieved to see that he’s barely touched the contents of that glass. He watches him for a moment.

“So,” he begins and sees him look at him again. “You’ve been gone a long while, do I have to ask where you’ve been?” He sits down opposite him and he waits. “And please don’t try my patience and lie to me. This has something to do with Lily and I want to know what it is.” He keeps his voice low. Mitchell stares at him for a long moment before he glances away and takes a small sip of his drink instead. He then nods.

“You’re right, it was about Lily but she won’t be a problem anymore,” he replies.

“Meaning?” Herrick asks.

Mitchell looks back at him. “Meaning I killed her,” he admits in a low, almost hoarse voice and Herrick is utterly silent as he absorbs this nugget of information. Lily is dead?  He shakes his head very slightly as if trying to dislodge something.

“Pardon me; I thought I just heard you say you _killed_ Lily.”

“You did,” Mitchell confirms and Herrick stares at him.

“You did _what_?  For God’s sake, _why_?” he hisses.

“I had to…and I don’t think I have to explain myself to you,” Mitchell retorts in a tight, defensive tone and Herrick sits back in his seat.

“Oh don’t you?  If I’m going to have Eleanor Brennan on my back breathing hellfire then I at least have to know why,” he retaliates and Mitchell’s head snaps up.

“Wait a minute, you know who she is?” he demands, his voice rising.

“Of _course_ I know who she is, she’s Lily’s sire or at least she _was_! What did Lily do?”

“She messed me around, she was using me and sleeping with other vampires behind my back.”

Herrick stares at him for a moment.

“She likes them young, dark haired and Irish, I mean _liked_. I really need to remember to start referring to her in the past tense now, Good _God_ Mitchell,” he breathes, his eyes widening with the implications. He sees Mitchell’s matching expression of disbelief and he sighs.

“What?”

“If you knew what Lily was like, why didn’t you warn me?” he demands incredulously. Herrick rolls his eyes.

“Oh please, at least _try_ and think about it. A stunningly beautiful, vivacious _forward_ female vampire makes a play for you, would you have seriously listened to someone like me warn you about any _possible_ agenda she might have?” he replies and he waits. “You wouldn’t have listened to me soldier; you or even she would’ve said that I was jealous. She took one look at you and she decided that you would do nicely. The mistake that she made was thinking that you were as biddable as the other idiots she’s entranced.” He sits back again. “I warned her, I told her that you could and probably would surprise her.” He takes a contemplative sip of his whisky and sees how he frowns.

“Oh yes, she made her intentions plain to me, she wanted you and she wanted to take you away from me,” he confirms. Mitchell looks away but the frown stays in place.

“If it hadn’t been for Donovan Flynn then I might have gone, eventually,” Mitchell murmurs. Herrick watches him.

“Really? You’d have left?” Mitchell just shrugs. Herrick ponders on it. He has to expect it, that one day he’ll want to fledge his vampiric wings and fly solo for a little while. He still has that stubborn independent streak that he sometimes admires and more often than not detests.

“Donovan Flynn?” Herrick comments and Mitchell’s eyes snap back to his face.

“He was the one who told me about Lily, about what she was really like. Do you know him as well?” Herrick shakes his head.

“I hadn’t seen Lily for ten years before now so the name isn’t familiar,” he replies. He sees how Mitchell’s shoulders sag, of how tired he all of a sudden looks.

“I told her…I warned her what I’d do if she was unfaithful,” he mutters.

“And you always carry out your promises,” Herrick fills in for him. He watches Mitchell drain the contents of the glass and nurse it between his hands. Herrick is not about to offer him another refill, at this rate he’ll be out of whisky in no time.  He sighs.

“Lily was never the faithful type Mitchell, she just thought that she could twist you around her little finger like the others and that you would never find out. She underestimated you.”

Mitchell’s expression is troubled. “But you knew what she was like.”

Herrick shrugs. “Of course I knew but I wasn’t her type. Her type was…you basically.” He pauses and regards him shrewdly. “You liked her, more than you care to admit.”

Mitchell’s frown becomes more pronounced. “I won’t be that stupid again,” he vows. He hands his empty glass to Herrick and he gets to his feet. Herrick watches him leave. He looks down at both of the glasses in his hands.

Mitchell has killed Lily Vale and Eleanor will be out for his blood. She’ll be on his doorstep and screaming for some kind of fitting retribution. He swallows against the sickness accumulating in the pit of his stomach.

Eleanor is an Old One and she always gets what she wants. He tosses down the rest of his drink and he grimaces as it burns a path down to his stomach. He sighs quietly.

He needs to make arrangements to get Mitchell out of the country and quickly.

* * *

 

The summons arrives in the form of a missive from Wyndam himself. They’re to meet at his Bristol residence at seven sharp and they are to be punctual. As Herrick re-folds the note he sighs quietly. This will not be pretty. He lifts his head when he hears footsteps and he sees Mitchell come down the stairs. He sees the note in Herrick’s hand.

“Anything interesting?” Herrick glances back down at it and barely refrains from rolling his eyes.

“We’ve been summonsed. Edgar Wyndam wants to see us this evening at seven and we are _not_ to be late.” He sighs. Mitchell frowns.

“What does he want?” he demands and Herrick’s eyes widen.

“Have you taken leave of your senses young man? He will have heard about what you did earlier today, he will have had Eleanor Brennan crying on his shoulder. You soldier, are in a serious amount of trouble.”

Mitchell pauses on the bottom step and he looks at him. “She’ll get over it,” he mutters and Herrick strides towards him.

“No she won’t. You killed her girl, her protégé and she’s understandably upset so tonight we’re going to go to Wyndam’s house and you will all but beg for her forgiveness.” He watches the outrage blossom on his face.

“I will not! The bitch had it coming to her!” he retorts.

“That is as may be but you do _not_ upset Edgar Wyndam and you _don’t_ ignore a summons. You’ll be there if I have to drag you there myself. You’ll be ready at six thirty, you’ll be smartly dressed and if you _dare_ to defy me then I shall hunt you down and stake you myself, is that understood?” Herrick warns. Judging by how dark Mitchell’s frown is, the younger vampire understands loudly and very clearly. He nods.

“Good,” Herrick replies.

* * *

 

The house is huge. Herrick’s eyes are wide as he parks the car in front of it. He glances at Mitchell who is seated beside him. He hasn’t spoken a word since he informed him of this evening’s plans. He’s expected dissention, an argument, an out and out refusal to attend but so far there has been nothing.

“Come along,” Herrick tells him, exiting the car. He keeps his hand on the door and he waits for him to emerge. Eventually he does. His movements are slow and reluctant. The two vampires exchange a long look.

They gain quick access into the opulent building. Mitchell’s eyes take in his surroundings. It makes the Blythe-Pearson residence look like a glorified stable. The floor beneath is feet is made from marble and the ceiling towers above his head. There is a silence about the place that is almost mausoleum like. The stillness is unnerving and Mitchell wonders whether that is deliberate. The butler who escorted them inside informs them that Mr Wyndam will see them shortly.

A few uncomfortable minutes pass. Mitchell ignores the nerves jumping in the pit of his stomach and instead concentrates on the décor. He badly wants a cigarette and he folds his arms tightly across his waist in a bid to fight against the craving. He turns his head sharply as all of a sudden the drawing room door flies open. He sees Edgar Wyndam standing there and he regards both Mitchell and Herrick dispassionately.

“Gentlemen, won’t you come in?” he invites and turns and walks away. As Herrick and Mitchell enter the drawing room, Wyndham pauses a few feet away and watches them again. Mitchell glances at him as he walks past, towards an expensive couch that is at an angle to an ornate marble fireplace. Wyndam comes past them and holds out a hand.

“Please, take a seat,” he requests and watches as both men do so.

Mitchell is quiet as he sees Eleanor across the room, perched on the edge of a matching sofa. Her back is ramrod straight, her expression set but he can see the hatred glimmering behind those eyes of hers. He regards her steadily, he refuses to feel or be intimidated by her, Old One or not. Their gazes hold, almost battle for supremacy.

“Gentleman…Miss Brennan… _Eleanor._ ” The smile Wyndam affords her is perfunctory, chilly.  “It seems that there has been grievous…mischief at play here.” Wyndam turns his attention to Herrick and Mitchell, his gaze pausing on Mitchell a fraction longer than normal.  He goes to stand in front of the fireplace and he turns, his arms behind his back. Mitchell looks at him, taking in his immaculate tuxedo, the perfectly polished shoes, the brilliantly white shirt and bow tie. His dark hair is slicked back and brilliantined. He looks like he’s dressed to go somewhere special, a night at the Opera perhaps.

“I’ve called this meeting tonight to discuss the matter and to see whether a…compromise can be reached,” he continues.

“Compromise? Edgar…he _took_ my Lily, he mutilated her, he cut off her beautiful hair, he _murdered_ her,” Eleanor accuses, her tone strident and bitter-soaked. Mitchell feels Herrick’s speculative gaze on him but he doesn’t look at him. He won’t.

“John?” Wyndam enquires mildly and Mitchell turns his head in his direction “What do you have to say for yourself?” His tone irritates him, it’s like being back at school again and even then he didn’t react well to any form of chastisement.

“It’s all true, every word of it. She was a whore, a faithless mercenary whore. She betrayed me and she paid the price.” His tone is hard and merciless.  As he expects, Eleanor’s eyes widen in outrage.

“Do you hear that Edgar? Do you hear the insolence of that young… _pup_!” she exclaims and Mitchell’s head snaps around in her direction and he glares at her.

“Wasn’t I good enough for her then Eleanor? Was I her little rebellion because I wasn’t handpicked for her by you, is that it?” he snarls.

“I should put you out of your misery myself,” Eleanor hisses, getting to her feet. She’s in front of him in a flash, her eyes pure black, fangs extended. Mitchell jumps to his feet.

“Why don’t you try it and we’ll see how far you get?” he retaliates, his own eyes scorching. Beside him, Herrick scrambles to his feet and he attempts to push his way in between them.

“Mitchell…” he chides and he looks at Eleanor. “You’ll have to excuse him Eleanor…it’s been… one of those days I’m afraid,” he apologises. He turns his head towards Mitchell and he glares at him. Mitchell blinks and his eyes return to normal.

“John,” Wyndam intervenes and his tone is absolute. He then turns his attention to Herrick for a moment.  “Leave us now please,” he instructs and Mitchell’s mouth drops open.

“But don’t I have a right to defend myself?” he explodes in an incredulous tone.

“Immediately. Jones will escort you,” Wyndam continues as if he hasn’t heard him speak. As if by magic the butler of earlier materialises by the sofa. Mitchell turns his head and looks at him. He then looks back at Herrick, his expression stunned.

“But…” he begins again but he’s silenced by the hard look Wyndam flashes at him. Herrick inclines his head just the once.

“Go on, it’s alright.”

“Herrick!” he hisses.

“It will be _alright_ soldier, just do as you’re told for once and go with…Jones.” The look Mitchell sends the occupants of the room is distinctly dark but he leaves anyway.

* * *

 

For a moment there is silence. Eleanor returns to her sofa and Herrick sits back on his own, straightening his tie and smoothing his hair as he does.

“Well William, I can see you have your hands full with John there, such a temper,” Wyndam comments.

“He’s always been a handful I’m afraid, straining at the leash so to speak,” Herrick replies, nerves trembling momentarily in the pit of his stomach.

“He certainly knows his own mind.” He turns his head towards Eleanor. “I think before we go any further we should have some tea don’t you think? I’m in the mood for some tea.”

He rings for tea to be brought in. Silence ensues as the party waits for it to arrive. It’s uncomfortable, tense. No one speaks. All that can be heard is a clock ticking and the delicate chiming of the quarter hour.

Herrick sits and while he waits, he thinks and he stews.

Eleanor is rather distraught about the whole matter. She’s attached to Lily in a way that is bordering on the truly maternal and it’s alarming. He understands that guiding a newly made vampire can border on the parental at times but that’s usually only needed for the first decade or so. Once a new vampire finds their feet and begins to embrace their existence, then the usual thing to do is to take a step backwards and watch and guide where necessary. Some vampires take to their new lives quicker than others, Mitchell for example, only eight years since his creation and already he’s chomping at the bit and causing quite a bit of mayhem. Lily is even older than he is and Eleanor clung to her like a stage mother, which is quite unbecoming for an Old One in his opinion.  His thoughts are distracted by the sound of a timid knock on the door and after hearing Wyndam’s response, it slowly, almost nervously opens.

They watch the young girl enter the room. Instantly they home in on the fact that she’s human and that she possesses a very healthy heartbeat. Herrick watches her almost scurry into the room. Her head is bent and she’s deliberately avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room as she places the tray onto a marble topped table that has been pushed up against a wall. He realises that she’s very uncomfortable in their presence and he can imagine being in Edgar Wyndam’s company can do that to a person, human or vampire. He himself has only ever been in his attendance twice before and today makes it three times. The more a vampire is in Wyndam’s company, the more they have to fear about their health in general. Herrick does not aim to be in his company again if he can possibly help it.

Wyndam doesn’t speak as the girl places the tray onto the table but his gaze is sharp and does not leave her. The girl is nervous; he can almost smell it and Herrick does not doubt that the other vampires can smell it too. He glances at Wyndam again and he sees the strange glint in his eyes as he regards her. The girl works quickly but not completely competently as Herrick’s sensitive hearing picks up how the cups clatter in the saucers, how her heartbeat flutters erratically against her ribcage. Wyndam strides across the room towards her and she turns in a quick, jerky movement. Her eyes flicker up to his and then dart away. She drops a hasty, almost clumsy curtsey.

“That will be all Bridget, please could you take some refreshment to Mr Mitchell, he’ll be in the Blue Room, I think he’d appreciate something about now.” Herrick watches Bridget’s reaction. He sees red hair pinned beneath the little black and white headpiece that she wears, it matches the long black dress and crisp white apron that she’s also wearing.

“Yes sir, very good sir,” she all but whispers back to him. She bobs another awkward curtsey and she’s gone.

Herrick watches with growing astonishment when he realises that Wyndam himself is pouring tea into three delicate rose printed tea cups. He stands up as he turns to hand him one of them. He accepts it and looks down at it. In the meantime he goes through the same routine for Eleanor, bestowing the cup and saucer onto her with a benign smile. Her answering smile is fleeting and Herrick watches her take a dainty sip. Wyndam returns to his position in front of the fireplace once more.

“Let’s get down to business now shall we?”

* * *

 

Mitchell is not happy. He does not appreciate being dismissed and then relegated to another room like a naughty schoolboy. He drops down onto a sapphire blue armchair and he glares at the pale blue silk covered walls. He doesn’t want to be here, he does not like being held account for what he’s done. He had his reasons and they should be satisfied with that. It also doesn’t help matters that he’s hungry and he’s always grumpier when he hasn’t fed. He sighs and slouches in the armchair. He stretches his legs out in front of him and he folds his arms tightly around his waist. He hates waiting even more. It does nothing to ease his state of mind. He got the impression that Edgar Wyndam liked him at that earlier party. Lily alluded as such and he offered him first taste. Is he supposed to sit here and wait meekly while he, Herrick and Eleanor decide whether he has a future or not? His thoughts are interrupted by a timid knock and before he can answer, it creaks open.

He watches the skinny girl in the maid outfit enter. She’s carrying a small tray. Mitchell sits up straighter in his chair and watches her come in.

“Mr Wyndam asked that I bring you some refreshment Mr Mitchell, I hope…I hope that tea is suffice.” Mitchell watches her. She’s a meek little thing; she hasn’t looked at him once. He can hear the nervous flutter of her heartbeat and it enchants him. He gets to his feet in one smooth, sinuous movement and watches her place the tray down on a side table.

She turns and she stops short and at the same time she gasps in fright. Mitchell widens his eyes as he grabs onto her shoulders to stop her from falling over.

“Oh…I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologises and he watches her pale creamy skin blush a becoming rose. He released his hold on her and he smiles softly. He watches her tuck a strand or two of red hair behind one ear and then glance up at him, the movement causes a sleeve of her ugly black dress to fall back slightly and his keen gaze sees the bite mark just below her wrist. Her eyes are large and velvety brown in colour. She’d be almost pretty if she wasn’t so skinny.  The faintest of smiles crosses her face as she looks down at her feet.

“That’s alright sir,” she responds breathlessly.

“And you’re Irish too, where are you from Miss…” It’s calculated and she responds immediately.

“Malone sir, I’m Bridget Malone and Dublin, I’m from Dublin.” Her voice becomes a little stronger as she acquires a little bit more confidence.

“Me too, I’m from Dublin. I’m John by the way, John Mitchell.” He watches as she lifts her head to look at him. He makes his smile warmer. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here in Bristol and not at home with your mam and dad Bridget?” he invites.

* * *

 

“John Mitchell should be made an example of,” Eleanor announces imperiously. Herrick tenses, gripping his cup and saucer tightly.

“And how would you suggest we do that?” Wyndam enquires. He turns slightly in her direction. His tea has been consumed and once more his hands are behind his back. His expression is almost benevolent.

“I want him _dead_ Edgar, how plainly do I have to state it?” she hisses angrily. Wyndam makes a show of pondering her reply. His eyes widen very slightly and his eyebrows rise. He pivots towards Herrick.

“What do you think William? After all your big bad John has caused quite a ruckus recently hasn’t he? Does it seem _fitting_ that he should be punished this way?” He waits. Herrick takes his time. He seems to ponder this as he takes another sip of his tea and both of them watch him lower his cup and saucer onto the end table by the sofa. He looks at Wyndam first and then Eleanor.

“Of course not,” he replies.

“And why not William? What makes him different from any other vampire that you or I or even Eleanor has made?” he prods. Herrick sighs.

“The moment that I saw him on that muddy field in France, I had a feeling about him; call it a… sixth sense. I can’t really explain it properly but he’s different, special. He has massive potential Mr Wyndam. I will…concede that he is indeed a handful but he is utterly devoted to the cause and once he’s at your side then he is unfailingly loyal.” At this he glances across at Eleanor and he sees the tiny frown between her eyebrows. Loyalty was never Lily’s strong suit and she knows it. He looks back at Wyndam. “I grant that he’s still young, there is a lot that he needs to learn and he will make mistakes here and there…”

“ _Mistakes?_ ” Eleanor all but shrieks. Her eyes are wide with horror.

“You didn’t _see_ the devastation that he left behind in that flat! He utterly destroyed it; there was nothing salvageable in there. There was blood _everywhere_ , her beautiful hair was hacked off and left lying on the floor and there was a hearth poker embedded in a _door._ ” Her voice is drenched in disgust.

Herrick listens.  Her voice is trembling and he can hear the utter anguish in her voice but another part of him wants to know what a poker has to do with matters and more to the point what did Mitchell do with it exactly? He watches as Wyndam regards Eleanor for a moment and then turns to look at Herrick again. His lips are compressed in a thin line, his gaze flat. He spins again on his heel and turns his attention back to Eleanor.

“Do you know if it had been anyone _other_ than John I would be inclined to agree with you Eleanor but it wasn’t, it _was_ John. As you know I had the fortune to meet him last week at Francesca’s marvellous party and I have to admit that I was really… _intrigued_ by him.” He looks at Herrick over his shoulder “That’s the word I was searching for, he’s a very intriguing young man don’t you think?” He isn’t looking for any kind of confirmation but Herrick has to agree, intriguing would be the right word to use to describe his protégé.  Then he pauses as another thought occurs to Herrick, Mitchell has met Wyndam before and attracted his attention? He wonders whether he was planning on sharing that piece of information with him any time soon.

Wyndam turns his head back in Eleanor’s direction.

“I can’t agree with your request Eleanor, you know for a fact that John is and always will be three times the vampire that Lily ever was.” He pauses when he hears her sharp intake of breath. Eleanor gets to her feet and Herrick follows suit. He can see the tears brimming in the other vampire’s eyes.

“I won’t forget this Edgar,” she hisses at him, her voice choked and Wyndam sighs tiredly.

“Darling, I think you really ought to don’t you? After all, did you really think I wouldn’t get to hear about your shenanigans involving Donovan Flynn? That inviting him to Edmund’s party like that with the hope of dragging your rebellious little darling back towards her vampire mummy’s apron strings would do the trick?” Herrick’s spine goes stiff when he hears mention of Flynn’s name. Mitchell had mentioned such a name to him during their previous conversation. He watches Wyndam take a single, slow step towards Eleanor who is now frozen to the spot.

“Oh yes my dear, I heard all about it. For the last couple of centuries you’ve used Lily for your own ends, your own purposes and then she saw John. I saw them together at our previous soiree. I saw how she was about him, I think she genuinely cared about him and you my darling were not happy with that because John is very much his own man, with his own mind, so you dragged Flynn back into the fold and he poured his brand of poison into John’s ear like a good little boy.” He raises a finger as Eleanor’s mouth opens to protest and he smiles at her. “Oh you’re not going to lie to me now are you? I sincerely hope not because there is one thing that I utterly detest and that’s being lied to, by anyone.” His smile vanishes like mist on a sunny morning. Eleanor’s mouth snaps closed.

“How do you think John will react to that piece of information Eleanor? Should we invite Donovan here and have him relate his story to him? How do you think he’ll react? You never know, he could do to you what he did to _poor_ Lily.” His eyes widen melodramatically as he prods. Herrick watches the colour drain from Eleanor’s already pale countenance. He’ll be honest, he’s enjoying this, and it’s taking a direction he never thought he’d see. Slowly he sits down.

“As William has already mentioned, John is a soldier.” Wyndam turns again and he has both of them in his sights. “He does have amazing potential but to achieve that he needs careful, _proper_ handling. I’d offer to do that myself but my services are needed in London very shortly, Alexander and Charlie are having discipline problems of their own that apparently need my careful attention. Young Henry, creating mayhem again.” He rocks back on his heels for a moment as he thinks.

“If you think about it, John Mitchell is very much like a grenade. In conflict he can be a very useful deterrent to have but you must remember that once you pull the pin, he can’t be held responsible for how he’ll react, you can’t expect him to react how _you_ see fit.” He looks at Eleanor again. “And you my dear pulled that pin and yet here you are, crying for some kind of retribution. If it hadn’t been John then it would’ve been another vampire. You can make a replacement.” He then looks at Herrick and his expression is reproachful.

“John needs firm guidance William, I think even you know that and you’ve been badly inattentive in that matter. Maybe I should toss him up in the air and let you both fight over him, maybe I should allow Eleanor to take control of him?” He looks back at Eleanor and his grin is fleeting “But could you really handle him?”

He returns his attention to Herrick.

“I think it’s going to be more of a challenge for you to hold onto him. He was a sergeant in the army you say?” Herrick nods and Wyndam’s expression becomes thoughtful. “Give him a couple of decades and I could see him doing your job William, wouldn’t that be wonderful? One day he could really give you a run for your money.” His eyes shine for a brief moment and then it disappears. He straightens.

“I need to speak to John now. I’ve made my decision, there will be no punishment where he is concerned.” His expression turns sharp as he stares at Eleanor. “There will be _no_ further retribution and if I discover otherwise then I shall not hesitate to come after those responsible and punish them severely, _all_ of them.” He frowns at them both.

“With me William please,” he requests and just like that, the meeting is over and Herrick feels stupidly relieved that his soldier has lived to see another dawn. He gets to his feet and he hurries after Wyndam as they leave the drawing room and head along the marble corridor to a tall white painted door.

* * *

 

Wyndam throws open the door with a flourish.

Mitchell jolts with surprise, Bridget Malone slumping dead at his feet where he guiltily drops her, her blood dripping from his chin.

Herrick’s mouth drops open in shock and then he sighs and shakes his head.

“I’m so…sorry Mr Wyndam” he apologises, sending Mitchell a hard glare as he follows him into the room. Mitchell doesn’t say a word, he stares between Herrick and Wyndam and he wipes his chin with the sleeve of his jacket. Wyndam looks down at the dead servant and he chuckles quietly. It grows louder and the two other vampires stare at him in surprise. Wyndam shakes his head, unable to speak for a moment. Gradually his laughter dies down and he wipes beneath both eyes with an elegant finger.

“Oh please, don’t be, that’s what she’s here for after all.” For the first time his smile holds real warmth as he places both hands on Mitchell’s shoulders.

“I really shouldn’t have favourites John and as a rule I don’t.” His shoulders tremble as a quiet chuckle ripples through him “But I like you, I like you very much.” He gives him a little shake.

“Go home John, actually until Eleanor calms down I think it would be a very good idea to head onto the Continent for a little while, I hear Rome is lovely at this time of the year.” He chuckles again and lets go of his shoulders. Again he glances down at the servant girl. He smiles to himself and he walks out of the room, leaving the two stunned vampires in his wake.

“What just happened?” Mitchell murmurs. Herrick sighs and shakes his head.

“To be honest, I have no idea but you soldier have been given a reprieve so let’s get out of here before he changes his mind,” he replies in a frankly tired voice.

They exit the house together and neither of them speak. Herrick is lost in thought. He glances at Mitchell as they walk towards the car. He doesn’t need to know that Flynn was used deliberately to try and get Lily back into the family fold. He doesn’t need to know the entire story. Mitchell always reacts first and thinks later and as far as he was concerned, what he did to Lily, while brutal was justified. There’s been too much trouble, too much blood shed already.

He needs to make arrangements, Rome does sound nice about now. He wonders how Mitchell thinks about Italian food.

 

 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We jump forwards, to 1999. Mitchell is about to make a decision that could change his life. Before he does, he has to make amends. 
> 
> Final chapter.

**Chapter Fifteen:**

**Present Day: December 1999.**

“Here’s a blast from your past.”

Mitchell looks up at Herrick as a newspaper drops onto the desk in front of him. Automatically he looks down.

“Top of the page, now there’s a name I’ll bet you haven’t heard in an age. Alice Blythe-Pearson. Her mum had quite the thing for you.” Herrick’s voice drops to a purr and he lowers himself onto his seat behind his desk and he regards Mitchell. Mitchell looks up through his eyebrows at him.

“I seem to remember it almost cost me a tooth,” he mutters back and Herrick shrugs one shoulder in a surprisingly elegant movement. He watches him return his attention to the article in front of him.

Mitchell frowns and his mouth goes dry when he sees the name in print. Over seventy years have passed since that night. He remembers it clearly. He’d been so young then, so filled with the righteous indignation, arrogance and invincibility of youth. At the same time he remembers Lily. She dazzled him with her attention and ever since then he’s been cautious with the opposite sex. He’s flirted and flattered and taken but he has kept an essential part of himself separate and he succeeded right up until the moment he saw Josie and then he had felt those carefully constructed walls begin to tumble down. She was his first taste of his humanity. After they separated, the very idea of it lurked in the background but was kept hidden, like a caged bird hidden by a heavy blanket. He ignores it but he can feel the holes in that heavy blanket beginning to wear through and he feels the light burning through into him, into whatever soul he has left. It’s uncomfortable.

He returns his attention to the article once more and he frowns when he sees the old photograph of the half burned out shell of that country house. The ballroom was completely obliterated as well as the floor above. The half burned corpse of Charlotte Blyth-Pearson had been discovered in her bedroom and it had all been classed as a terribly tragic accident, the result of candles being left unattended and knocked over, igniting the curtains in the ballroom. He remembers the panic, he remembers Lily telling him that there was utter chaos downstairs and as he reads further, it’s reported that five other people lost their lives and he wonders whether that was down to the fire or…other means. His eyes skim the rest of the article, of how the three children were brought up by relatives, of how Hugh Blythe-Pearson remarried and moved to America leaving his children behind. The story of the fire followed the children all through their lives and according to the article, Alice never married. He pauses and then looks up at Herrick, his eyes wide. Herrick’s smile is slow and very cold.

“Oh you’ve got to the part about the book I take it?” he enquires and Mitchell slowly nods. “The Black Eyed Devils, interesting choice for a title don’t you think?” he comments and Mitchell stares at him with slightly widened eyes.

“Did you have a witness to your little show of fun and games Mitchell?” he enquires in a smooth voice. Mitchell’s eyes drop down once more to the newspaper article and he swallows.

“I didn’t know at the time,” he admits in a low voice and his head snaps up again at Herrick’s sigh of annoyance.

“She saw you, she witnessed what you did and you didn’t think to… _rectify_ the situation?” His voice rises and Mitchell frowns.

“She was just a child Herrick, she didn’t know what she saw!” he exclaims defensively. Herrick rolls his eyes.

“She saw enough to write a damned book about it you fool!” Herrick argues, his voice rising.

“According to the article, it was published as a work of fiction; it sold moderately well but attracted no real attention,” Mitchell points out. He watches Herrick sit forward to rest his elbows on the polished wood of his desk.

“You need to pay her a visit John,” he informs him. Mitchell frowns and sits back.

“What’s the point Herrick, it says that she’s been partially paralysed by a stroke and it’s looking touch and go whether she’ll survive.”

“Then it’ll make your task all the more easier then won’t it?” Mitchell’s eyes widen with horror.

“Why the hell are you doing this?” he exclaims in astonishment.

“Because it will take just one person, one person with enough intelligence and know how to start looking into her story and begin to discover things they really shouldn’t be discovering.”

“And isn’t that what you want? Aren’t you always going on about taking control, about us being the ones in control instead of lurking in the shadows?” Herrick frowns at him, not liking this reticence that he’s seeing.

“Of course, but not yet and not like this!” he hisses irritably and Mitchell understands. Oh he wants the world to know about their existence but only when he’s ready and on _his_ terms, typical Herrick.

“Do it yourself,” he flings at him, folding his arms.

“I beg your pardon but since when have you been the one in charge of this chapter? I tell you to do something and you do it soldier, no questions asked,” Herrick responds quietly. Mitchell glares at him.

“I am not Seth, I’m not the fucking monkey here,” he retorts.

Herrick sighs.

“And Seth just doesn’t have that brand of… _charm_ that you have John. He wishes that he does but it’s just not happening. No, it has to be you, it’s your mess and you need to clean it up.” He sends him a hard look.

“It happened over seventy years ago Herrick.”

“So what, I don’t like loose ends, of _any_ description,” Herrick retorts and Mitchell jumps to his feet, feeling temper boiling through him.

“I won’t do it. She’s an old lady now, helpless.”

“John, don’t make me ask you again. Actually I’m not asking at all, it’s an order soldier and you have to follow orders or face the consequences.” The threat hangs in the room between them.

* * *

 

The cold December wind makes him shiver. All around him humanity is preparing for another festive season. The streets are crammed with Christmas shoppers both excited and fatigued by the forthcoming celebration and the following new Millennium. In times gone by, he revelled in such events; places like this were easy and rich pickings for him and his type. Now his stomach churns, it makes him nauseous. All of these heartbeats, all of these pulses they’re a cacophony of temptation. Now he’s cold, uninterested. Now he’s about to face his past.

Someone bumps into him, makes firm contact against his shoulder and it knocks him back a pace or two. He catches a drift of sweet, old fashioned perfume, violets. It makes him frown as a memory tickles the back of his memory. He turns his head to apologise and he sees her turn her face towards him. Her skin is pale and creamy looking; her eyes are big and blue. His own widen as recognition shocks through him.

_Jessie?_

He turns more fully but she’s disappeared into the heaving seasonal crowd and gone just like that. He frowns as the crowds swarm around him, pushing and jostling at him. He racks his brain. The party that Flynn had shown up at, she had been the ‘entertainment’, he hadn’t stuck around for the refreshments, he’d been outside, listening to Flynn tell his story and missed it. As far as he was concerned, Jessie had died that night.

Or had she? He shakes his head and his gaze sharpens as again he searches the sea of faces around him.

Is he seeing things now? He draws a deep breath into his lungs. He shakes his head slightly and wonders whether he’s starting to lose his mind.

* * *

 

He’s become adept at keeping to the shadows and the shiny corridors are silent and empty. He expects them to be at this time of night. He won’t be picked up on any kind of closed circuit television, of any kind of camera but even that knowledge still makes him careful, still makes him cautious.

Alice Blythe-Pearson is his last human link to a vicious fledgling career. An innocent victim of his carnage, his naked brutality and even now he feels the unwelcome churn of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

 

_"Hello Alice."_

He looks down at her.

“The police…they thought that…my father had killed…my mother.” Alice’s voice is low and halting. Mitchell regards her. Her eyes are cloudy with cataracts. She can’t see him, or at least see him clearly; if she could then it would indeed be game over. He watches her.

“Why would they think that? We know it was that awful fire,” he tells her and she frowns, her head again turning in his direction.

“We both…know…what truly happened,” she reminds him. He leans forward so his mouth is close to her ear.

“You were a child Alice, a baby, what you thought you saw was a machination of your young mind,” he tells her in low but clear, precise tones.

“They argued…at the masquerade, my father said she was…making an exhibition…or herself…with another man,” she whispers.  “It was you, wasn’t it?”

“How could it have been? Do I sound like an old man Alice? You and the police were mistaken,” Mitchell whispers back.

“But…but you sound…”

“I know…but I suppose it’s the accent.”

She frowns again. “You broke…her neck…I saw you…”

“Alice, please, you’re really upsetting me with your accusations, your baseless unfounded accusations.” He looks her up and down.

“Then why are you…here?” she asks, her voice still barely above a whisper. He looks at her face. He remembers the inquisitive, cheeky little girl, the child who didn’t like dresses and ribbons and wanted to climb trees and go exploring like her brothers. His vision suddenly blurs as emotion catches his throat.

“Tying up loose ends, following orders,” he whispers back in a choked voice. He lifts a hand.

“Close your eyes.”

* * *

 

He leaves as he entered unseen and overlooked. He strides quickly back along the corridor, his shoulders hunched, his head down and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. He’s white pale and tears are pouring down his cheeks.

He gasps out a breath as he exits the hospital and he stops and looks up at the navy blue sky. The icy wind whips at the salt on his cheeks and he self-consciously, angrily brushes them away.

No more. He can’t do this anymore.

He needs to find a way out of this.

 

He dreams of Jessie that night and it’s the first of many.

* * *

 

He takes a deep breath and looks up at the hotel entrance. He’s not sure that this is a good idea but it has to be done. He pushes his hands into his pockets and steps inside.

He stands just inside the entrance and he squints a little as his eyes struggle to get used to the dim lighting. She said that she’ll be here for two and he knows it’s a couple of minutes past that. It’s never a good idea to keep them waiting and he knows he’s cutting it fine.

“Can I help you?” He turns when he hears the voice at his shoulder and he swings around and sees the suited maître d’ or whatever title he goes by these days.

“Ummm…Eleanor Brennan?” he enquires hopefully and by the way his expression clears, he knows who he’s talking about.

“Right this way sir,” he informs him and Mitchell follows him.

* * *

 

Eleanor is seated alone at a small table beside a large window that gives her a view of gardens that stretch out for as far as the eye can see. She turns her head away from the view and she watches them both approach the table. The maître d pulls out a chair for Mitchell and then with a nod at Eleanor, he departs. Mitchell remains still for a moment and the two vampires regard each other. There is no welcome on Eleanor’s face and to be honest, he isn’t expecting to see any.

“Eleanor,” he begins in a neutral tone and she nods just the once.

“John,” she answers. His hand touches the back of the chair the maître d’ has pulled out.

“Can I sit down?” he asks.

“You’re asking me? Do what you like John, you’re the one who asked for this meeting.” Her voice is ice cold.

“And yet here you are,” he replies and her eyes narrow. They glare at each other.

“I don’t have to be,” she reminds him. He sighs roughly and lowers himself slowly into the seat.

“I wish I could say the years have been kind to you John… _Mitchell,_ ” she sneers at him. He stares at her. He looks down at his hands, wrapped in fingerless army green coloured gloves. He sees grubby fingernails chewed to the quick, grimy around the edges and he knows that she has a point.

“Unlike you Eleanor, you don’t seem to have changed an inch,” he replies quietly. He looks up at her and he sees the flare of disappointment in her eyes.

“What? Were you expecting anger, arrogance or worse? I called this meeting as you’ve reminded me, why would I do that and then insult you?” He straightens very slightly.

“I’ve changed Eleanor, I’m not the same person I was back then,” he admits.

“Somehow I find that very difficult to believe,” she retorts.

“Why? Don’t you believe people… _vampires_ have the ability to change, to become better people?” His voice lowers as he glances around himself. A few of the tables are occupied by other diners but nobody takes any notice of them.

“Not you. You made your reputation as an especially barbaric example of our kind, Wyndam called you big bad John and I heard the name stuck,” she hisses at him.

“That was then,” he replies, looking away.

“And now?” His gaze flicks back to her face. Her skin is still porcelain pale and unlined; her hair is that same light blonde but longer now. It brushes past her shoulders.

“Now I remember all their faces, their names. I remember if they fought against their…fate or accepted. I even remember how they tasted,” he admits in a quiet voice.

“You never forget Mitchell, it’s part of the curse of our existence. You remember every single detail, you just find different ways of coping with it all, trying to forget,” she tells him.

“I know and I… don’t. It’s just that now the colours are…brighter, everything is more…three dimensional,” he confides.

“You have nightmares, sometimes you think you see them when you’re awake, your…victims,” she guesses and she smiles cruelly at his look of shock. “That’s your humanity Mitchell, that’s your _humanity_ emerging to remind you of what you once were. Do you see Lily?” He freezes and then eventually he nods.

“I keep seeing her everywhere I turn…and they are girls who look like her…and Jessie…I keep thinking I see Jessie,” he murmurs

“Jessie…who is Jessie?” He looks up at her.

“From Edmund’s party, she was the…entertainment,” he reminds her

“Oh.” Her voice trails off and Mitchell looks at her more fully.

“But why?” he blurts out in surprise. Eleanor shrugs.

“That’s for you to find out for yourself, I’m not about to become your advisor. You have someone for that, but oh… _wait_ , you can’t tell him what you’ve admitted to me now can you?” He sees the satisfaction in her eyes.

“Are you going to tell me why you called this meeting? I haven’t set eyes on you for over seventy years and while I have hated you with every fibre of my being, I am curious to know what we’re doing here,” she reminds him. She sees how he frowns.

“I wanted to talk…about Lily.” His voice is slow and halting. Her eyes widen with surprise.

“Why?” she demands, struggling to keep her voice, her emotions under control. Mitchell watches her; even the sound of her name has her struggling. He swallows and he wishes that he had a drink in front of him. He wants to feel the familiar numbness that alcohol temporarily affords him from time to time.

He shrugs. “Because what I did to her…it was wrong.” His words falter and feel foreign in his mouth. He frowns fiercely.

“Yes…it was,” she confirms. He glances up at her.

“She used me and I…reacted badly and I’m…sorry.” His apology sounds weak and inadequate; he looks back down at his hands.

“Edgar said you were mercurial.” His head snaps up.

“Wyndam did?” His tone sharpens. Eleanor just nods.

“It’s because of him that you’re still alive today, be thankful for that and never ever forget it.” Her tone becomes sharp once more. She looks down at the fine china tea cup that has so far been ignored in front of her. She then raises her head and looks at him. Her gaze is hard, unforgiving.

“You know, I have hated you for such a long time. I blamed you for what happened to her and don’t get me wrong, I still do, I still hate you and I still blame you but I’ve had time to think and understand and I suppose accept. Part of the blame must lie with me, for making her the girl she was. She was flighty, she was grasping and yes, she was a whore and I made her all of those, or at least I formed all of those characteristics. I suppose they were always there, it was something about her that I must’ve recognised in that tavern. I remember seeing her, her beauty and just… _recognising_ her. I didn’t want her to become just another ordinary soul, I wanted her to be extraordinary and she was.” She sighs shakily. “She saw that in you too. She saw you at a party and she just had to have you and I couldn’t stop her, I suppose she recognised the extraordinary in you and she wouldn’t listen to me, so yes, you were her rebellion I suppose.” Her eyes glimmer with unshed tears.

“But she was special and you took that away from me,” she whispers somewhat angrily. She looks down once more and Mitchell watches her struggle to compose herself. The next time that she looks at him, all traces of emotion are gone.

“You’re having doubts about what you are. You’ve always had them and thirty years ago I heard that you broke away from Herrick for a woman, a human this time.” She offers him a tiny smile.

“How do you know about that?” he asks her.

“I’ve made it my mission to know about you John, about your beginnings, about your existence and I’ll make it my mission to know about your end,” she promises and Mitchell regards her steadily. He does not doubt that she will.

“What you are is a twenty four hour seven days a week entity, there’s no stepping back from it, there’s no deciding not to be what you are, _you_ _just_ _are_. You could never succeed at being anything else.” She lets the derision in her voice bleed through and she watches it hit its target. “I hear on the grapevine that you’re heading onto the Continent, any special reason?”

Mitchell shrugs. “A change of scenery I suppose,” he mutters.

“Or Herrick has upset someone somewhere and needs to make a quick getaway. You must visit Vienna, beautiful city.” She gets to her feet,  making a show of looking at her watch at the same time.

“Was that everything John? Your apology is noted, however I think I’ll reserve judgement as to whether I wish to accept it.”

Mitchell gets to his feet. He hovers for a moment and pushes his hands into his jacket pocket. “Thank you Eleanor,” he begins in a halting tone “for agreeing to see me.” Eleanor slowly, imperiously nods. His eyes flick up to her face and then he turns. Eleanor remains standing as she watches him leave.  She waits. Then she turns her head.

“Did you hear all of that Jessica?” she asks.

Jessie slowly replaces her tea cup onto its saucer and she rises to her feet. She turns to look at Eleanor and she smiles. It sends beams of warmth into her blue eyes.

“Every word Eleanor,” she confirms. Eleanor smiles fondly at her and the younger vampire moves closer to her sire.

“Edgar said that I wasn’t to seek any physical retribution on John for what he did to my darling Lily but he didn’t say anything about his mind now did he?”

Jessie shakes her head. “No he didn’t,” she agrees. Eleanor returns her attention to the exit.

She’d rescued Jessica from Edmund’s party. She’d come across her semi-comatose in a guest bedroom and had been enchanted by her beauty, her exquisite doll like features and thick black hair. She herself had been invited to take first blood and of course, being an Old One, no one would dare tell her how much was too much and she’d drained her to the point of death, reviving her in her new status a little later on and of course after everything that had happened with Lily, she’d been a blessing in disguise, a boon companion.

She has moulded her into what she is now and while she is no Lily, she’s a very close second. Eleanor transformed her initial confusion about John into a cold single minded hatred. She has planned this, oh it almost came unstuck thirty years ago with his sojourn with the human girl but that didn’t last for long, with humans it never really did.

It’s been a carefully planned affair. She has bided her time and played her cards stealthily. She made sure that Seth saw her in public because everyone knew Seth couldn’t keep a secret if his undead existence depended on it. The only question was who would he tell first, Herrick or Mitchell? If she had been a betting woman then she would’ve said Mitchell and it would seem that she was correct. Two days had passed by before she received his request to meet. Everything was in place.

“Are you sure he saw you the other evening?” Eleanor enquires and Jessie smiles slowly, knowingly.

“Oh I know he did, I made sure of it though I made sure he only got a glimpse. He’s not sure who or what he saw,” she confirms. Eleanor feels the satisfaction well inside of her.

“Good girl,” she murmurs approvingly.

She’ll have her revenge one way or another.


End file.
